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MAR 8 1*^98 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, j 

ChapJi^ZlS. Copyright No., 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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SCHWESTER ANNA 

Sale of 

German C)otnc Ctfe 

BY / 

FELICIA BUTTZ CLARK 




NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS 
CINCINNATI : CURTS & JENNINGS 


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TWfl CPPifs fffCEJVED 

O- 



2702 


Copyright by 
EATON & MAINS, 
1898. 


Eaton & Mains Press, 

150 Fifth Avenue, New York. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Gottestreu ” 


PAGE 

CHAPTER H. 

A Day of Work 



CHAPTER III. 

Sabbath at Neuenhain. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Anna’s Story 



CHAPTER V. 

In Wittenberg 


.... 38 

CHAPTER VI. 

Down by the Elbe 


... 51 

CHAPTER VII. 

Anna and Gottfried 


... 64 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Home Life 


... 75 

CHAPTER IX. 

Off for Berlin 


.... 89 

CHAPTER X. 

Among the Methodists 



CHAPTER XI. 

In the Great City 


... 119 


4 Contents. 

CHAPTER XII. PAGE 

Important Events 128 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Home Again 134 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Coffee Drinking 143 

CHAPTER XV. 

In Front of the Fire 153 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Separation : 163 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A New Work 173 

CHAPTER XVIH. 

In the Deaconess Home 183 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Summer of Rest 196 

CHAPTER XX. 

A Call for Help 204 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Valley of the Shadow of Death 215 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Dr Georg 228 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Decision 231 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

An Easter Day 239 


ScHWESTER Anna 


CHAPTER I. 

^'Gottestreu*^ 



'HE sun is just rising over the hill behind 


1 Gottestreu,” where the apple trees are 
now covered with rosy bloom. The chickens 
in the small yard near the house are greeting 
its warm rays with shrill cries of delight. 
Poor Frau Scharf, a nervous invalid lady now 
occupying “ Zarpath,” the best room in the 
house, is driven nearly out of her senses by 
these demonstrations in the poultry yard. 
She has just fled from her city home to escape 
the noise ; but has found that in all parts of 
God’s world living creatures abound, and 
where there are living creatures there are 
always sounds expressive of either joy or grief. 
As the rays of the sun penetrate the windows 
in the upper stories of the building, a fresh, 
clear voice calls : “ Schwester Amalie! Schwes- 
ter Paula ! Do you not see that the beautiful 
sun is giving you a morning greeting? Come! 
It is time to be up and about.” 

At this call the two women rise quickly and 


5 


6 


Sch wester Anna. 


dress themselves. In a very short time they 
come down the oak staircase and busy them- 
selves with the day’s duties. The fragrant 
odor of coffee quiets the excited nerves of 
Frau Scharf, and the noise of the chickens is 
stilled by a liberal breakfast. 

“ Gottestreu ” — Faithfulness of God — stands 
on a side hill, close by the small village of 
Neuenhain, in the Taunus Mountains. Built 
in imitation of a Swiss cottage, having broad 
verandas and low-hanging roofs, it adds pic- 
turesqueness to a scene which is already 
charming. The smalt village is interesting in 
itself. Beneath its long avenue of tall and 
stately poplars comfortable benches invite the 
weary travelers to rest. Its red-tiled houses, 
whose plastered walls are covered with irregu- 
lar designs formed by beams of dark wood, are 
crowded up against each other as though the 
occupants feared the same foes that threatened 
their forefathers centuries before and forced 
them to seek strength in union. Its curious 
church, with odd gables and old gray walls, 
looks down upon the quiet town. 

On the left of the avenue of poplars, not far 
from an old pump where the villagers were 
wont to draw water years ago, but which now 
stands idle and covered with moss, a narrow 


** Gottestreu/* 


7 


path descends a steep hill. It passes along 
patches of bright, green grass, where a few 
daisies and plenty of buttercups are blooming, 
until it reaches the gate of “ Gottestreu.” 
Then it winds on down another little hill and 
joins the broad yellow road which passes 
around the back of the house. Three stone steps 
lead from the gate to the garden of “ Gottes- 
treu.” All around is a mixture of beauty 
and usefulness. Here is a bed of azure flags, 
there a bunch of lettuce ; here some laughing 
pansies, there a prosaic cluster of cabbages. 
Along the fence a cherry tree has been 
trained ; its branches having been twined in 
and out while they were young and supple, 
until now they cover the rough boards. The 
blossoms have already shed their white petals, 
and tiny green cherries are forming, promises 
of clusters of red richness later on. Paths wind 
in and out among beds of flowers and vegeta- 
bles, of fragrant roses and tender seedlings. 
Two summer houses, covered with climbing 
vines, look inviting and restful. Right in front 
of the house is a bed of gravel, kept in perfect 
order. Every morning early Schwester Paula 
does as she is doing now — rakes it until it is as 
smooth as a floor and carefully picks up every 
bit of paper or tiny leaf that has fallen on it. 


8 


Schwester Anna. 


A loud-ringing bell startles Schwester Paula, 
and she hurries through the broad doorway. 
Inside all is cool and pleasant. On the left is 
a long room, lighted by two large windows. 
Its floor is of hard wood, guiltless of carpet 
and spotlessly clean. In one corner stands a 
dark-brown porcelain stove, in another is an 
organ, above which hanging bookshelves hold 
some Bibles, hymn books, and a few other vol- 
umes. Near one window a table stands. It is 
covered with newspapers, all in the German 
language, some of which have found their way 
across the ocean from America. On one side 
of the room is a large sofa. A good clock 
marks the flight of time, and various verses of 
Scripture, prettily illuminated, decorate the 
well-papered walls. This is the dining room 
of “ Gottestreu.” And what is “ Gottestreu ? ” 
It is the rest home for the Methodist deacon- 
esses in the German Fatherland ; the home to 
which they come when worn and weary with 
caring for the sick and dying, with cheering 
and comforting the poor and needy. It is the 
house where the deaconesses are received when 
convalescent, and where those whom they 
nurse are sometimes sent to breathe the pure 
country air. 

At the head of the table sits a woman of 


“ Gottestreu/* 


9 


possibly fifty years, with hair as white as snow. 
A white cap, tied under the chin with a broad 
bow, brings out the sweetness of her face. 
Her blue and white cambric dress, with a little 
shoulder cape, is finished at the neck with a 
deep, white collar. Reverently she lifts her 
hand, and they all bow their heads. “ Come, 
Lord Jesus, be our guest, and bless the food 
thou hast given us. Amen,” comes in the Ger- 
man from her lips, and then the women begin 
drinking their hot coffee and eating the fresh 
rolls, still warm from the oven of the village 
baker. There is no man at the table. The 
head sister, Schwester Lena, two others who 
assist her with the work, and a visiting deacon- 
ess, in whose sunken face one sees already the 
marks of death, are all that are in the house at 
present, for it is only the last of May. 

“ Well, sisters, there is plenty of work to do 
to-day, is there not ? ” says Schwester Lena. 

“Yes, indeed,” replies one of the other dea- 
conesses. “ For outside of its being Saturday, 
when there is always so much to be done to 
get ready for the holy Sabbath, we must clean 
that corner room and get it ready for Schwes- 
ter Anna.” 

“ O, my dear, not one of us has forgotten 
that she comes to-day. Dear girl ! ” 


10 


Sch wester Anna. 


Who is Schwester Anna?” asked another 
deaconess, who had not been long in the So- 
ciety of Bethany. 

“ I forgot that thou didst not know her, 
Schwester Paula,” replied the older woman. 
“ Schwester Anna comes from Frankfort, 
where she has been a deaconess for five years. 
There is no one of us who has done more to 
help on the cause of our Saviour than she has. 
She has given up a beautiful home to live 
among the poor. She is not only lovely in 
person, but in heart. Thou, as a beginner, 
wilt do well to imitate her in every way. Let 
us give thanks, sisters.” Then with a short 
prayer the early breakfast was finished, and 
each one went to her work. 

“ I am anxious to see Schwester Anna,” said 
Paula. 

“ Well, she is a good woman,” responded 
Amalie ; “ but it does seem sometimes as if 
some folks had all the good looks and got all 
the credit for making sacrifices, when some 
others never get any credit for anything.” 
She wiped away a tear, for poor, plain Schwes- 
ter Amalie did not possess the quality of be- 
ing attractive, and, as she said truly, did not 
always get a full reward for her good deeds. 
Her body was frail and her labor hard. 


“ Gottestreu." 


11 


Paula, on the other hand, was a happy-go- 
lucky girl, strong of body and excellent for 
housework, but, alas, with very little aptitude 
for the finer work of nursing. She was more 
disposed to jerk the poor, weak patient out of 
bed, in the exuberance of her spirits, than she 
was to move him quietly and gently. On this 
account, she was still on probation, and the 
puzzled head of the society had sent her out 
into the country to help Schwester Lena with 
the housework, while he meditated on the best 
thing to do with this very willing but too 
active sister. 


12 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER II. 

A Day of Work* 

MUST make some ‘ nudeln ’ for to-mor- 

1 row’s dinner,” said Schwester Amalie, 
as she passed into the pleasant kitchen with 
“ Salem ” written over the door in old German 
characters. It had been a pretty idea of some 
one when this rest-home was built, to put Bi- 
ble names over the door of each room, and thus 
call down a blessing on those who entered. 

Amalie worked the flour and eggs and water 
together with a skillful hand. She added 
some other ingredients to the mixture, rolled 
the paste out very thin, cut it into narrow 
strips, and put it away in the closet. To- 
morrow it would grace the dinner table, and 
praises would be showered upon Amalie, who 
was an excellent cook. 

“ And I must go up and dress Fraulein 
Krumm, and take Frau Scharf her breakfast,” 
said Paula. “ Ach, du liebe zeit ! ” (which 
phrase in German means, “O dear!” but is a 
great deal more expressive.) 

Schwester Lena was just coming in the door 
and heard this long-drawn sigh. 

“ Schwester Paula, how canst thou speak 


A Day of Work. 13 

so ? ” she cried, sorrowfully. “ That is our 
work.” 

“ I know it, Schwester Lena, but I would 
rather carry water for the garden all day than 
dress Fraulein Krumm. But I’ll do my best,” 
and Paula went sadly up the stairs. Doubtless 
Fraulein Krumm wished she had been sent to 
water the garden instead of to dress her, for 
though Paula tried very hard, her large hands 
could not arrange the old lady’s silvered hair 
•in the smooth bands in which her soul 
delighted, and the stumbling feet would so 
frequently knock against the gouty ones. 
However, it was finished at last, a shawl was 
wrapped around the invalid, a broad hat 
shaded her face, and with the aid of Paula’s 
strong arm and a stout cane she was assisted 
out on the veranda and comfortably settled in 
an armchair. 

As the two women stepped out of the door 
they involuntarily drew a long breath. What 
a glorious day it was! All down tFe valley 
were small fields of grass, some light, some 
dark, some mown, some with grass so tall that 
the light breeze moved it in long waves. 
Here and there the peasant women in their 
short dresses were cutting the hay and binding 
it into sheaves to bear away on their heads. 


14 


Schwester Anna. 


Several tiny gardens were being industriously 
cultivated by their owners, who were princi- 
pally women, for the men were off at harder 
labor. Away down the hill lay Soden, where 
the famous springs are ; across the plain were 
three other small towns, whose red-roofed 
houses were shining in the sunlight. Clear 
across the wide valley, on the left, shone the 
towers of Frankfort, and far away on the right 
were the green mountains of the Odenwald, 
where the ruins of the once magnificent castle 
of Heidelberg keep watch as the centuries roll 
by. Off to the right of “Gottestreu ” lay a 
deep chestnut wood with glints of sunshine 
piercing its heavy shadows. Up through the 
village, on the left, under the quivering shade 
of the graceful poplars, came the huge, yellow 
post wagon, whose driver, in his queer round 
hat and uniform of two centuries ago, was 
blowing his bugle horn melodiously to let 
Neuenhainers know that the “ Emperor’s 
post ” had arrived. Up in the tall church 
steeple the bell struck ten clear strokes. 

“ How I wish I could walk! ” said Fraulein 
Krumm. “ It seems to me as if I shall die, 
living out my life in this way, sitting from 
morning till night, helpless and alone.” The 
poor lady’s lips trembled. Hers was, indeed. 


A Day of Work. 


15 


a hard fate ; crippled and swelled with gout in 
both hands and feet, she was wandering from 
doctor to doctor, from place to place, seeking 
health, but finding it not. 

“ It does seem hard,” said Paula, “ when the 
dear Lord has put so many beautiful things in 
the world, that you shouldn’t have a chance to 
go around and see them. But you do good to 
others by your suffering, for it teaches them 
to be patient and thankful. Here I am, just as 
, strong as can be, and I can’t seem to do any- 
one any good, nor even to do my duty as I 
might. I have hurt you and bothered you this 
morning and you never said a word. But I 
must go to Frau Scharf,” she added, before 
Fraulein Krumm could enter a word of re- 
monstrance. 

Thus the day wore on. One sister worked 
in the heat of the kitchen, the other hoed in 
the garden, scrubbed the halls, cleaned the 
rooms, while the presiding genius of the house 
was everywhere, reprimanding and overseeing 
all judiciously. On Saturday there was double 
work to be done, for these simple-hearted 
Christian women took the Scripture injunction 
concerning work on the Sabbath literally, and 
by Saturday night all must be finished. 

The invalids were helped down stairs to eat 


16 


Schwester Anna. 


dinner in the airy dining room. The afternoon 
passed away ; the sun crept around to the 
other side of the house, then went lower and 
lower until it neared the horizon. The heavily 
loaded hay wagons, drawn by a team of cows, 
toiled up the hill on their homeward journey. 
A barefooted girl came around the corner of 
the house carrying a large pail of warm, fresh 
milk for supper. 

Why, I do believe it is nearly time for that 
train to come,” exclaimed Schwester Lena. 

What time is it, Schwester Amalie ? ” 

“ Just seven,” was the reply. 

“ Then I must hurry and change my dress, 
or I shall not be ready. Hast thou put fresh 
linen and a bunch of bluebells on the table ? 
Thou knowest Schwester Anna loves bluebells* 
Hast thou fried the cutlets and dressed the 
salad ? Thou must do all well to-night.” 

“ I have done all,” said the weary voice of 
Am^ilie, and she added to herself, Ah, me ! 
I wonder whoy^ill ever make so much fuss over 
me?” 

When the older woman had put on her soft 
black cashmere gown, with its short, round 
cape and spotless linen; she came out on the 
veranda to look. At seven-twenty the train 
would be due at Soden, and fifteen minutes 


A Day of Work. 


17 


before it arrived it could be seen across the val- 
ley. Yes, there it was. A tiny wreath of 
smoke was floating away on the wind, now it 
was possible to see a black, snaky object moving 
irregularly from village to village ; mow it had 
stopped at Sulzbach, and there it waits five 
minutes to let out a crowd of workmen and al- 
low the up-train for Frankfort to pass ; it is 
coming on, one can see the cars ; it has reached 
Soden, and the white smoke rises in masses as 
the tired engine rests from its labors. 

Schwester Lena is getting quite excited. 
Her cheeks have a pretty rosy color in them, 
and her eyes are tender and soft. Her Lieb- 
ling ” is coming nearer every moment. She 
has now had time to reach the post office, where 
the diligence waits ; but they are always so 
slow in Soden. At last the faint sound of the 
post horn is heard far down the hill. It comes 
nearer. The yellow wagon, drawn by its old, 
fat horses, toils slowly up the steep hill be- 
tween the poplar trees ; it is in front of the inn 
of the “ Three Bears;” it has stopped. Yes, 
there is the white cap, and the black dress is 
plainly visible as a woman comes along the 
narrow path up to the front gate. 

The head sister does not move from her po- 
sition on the veranda. It is for the young 
2 


18 


Schwester Anna. 


woman to come to greet her ; it would be un- 
dignified to rush to meet her guest, but her 
heart rejoices as she sees the slender figure ap- 
proaching swiftly. A moment more and soft 
arms are about the elderly woman’s neck, fra- 
grant kisses are showered upon her cheeks, and 
a melodious voice asks : Art thou not glad to 
see me, dear Schwester Lena ? ” 

“ Indeed I am, my dear; but now thou must 
come in and rest, and see the other sisters.” 

Who are here now ? ” 

“ Schwester Amalie, whom thou knowest, 
and a new sister, Paula. Thou must lend us 
thine aid with this young sister. Thou wilt 
see that she needs thee.” 

So they go in to the cutlets and the salad. 
As they eat, Schwester Paula steals frequent 
glances at the newcomer. She sees a face full 
of peace — the peace of God. It is a face show- 
ing lines of care and sorrow ; a face that bears 
the marks of suffering. The forehead is broad, 
white, and rather low. The soft, light hair is 
parted and combed down as smoothly as pos- 
sible under the white cap. But it is not possi- 
ble to control and regulate the little curls that 
creep out and soften the outline of the sweet 
face. The features are regular, eyes are a soft 
dark blue, shaded with long lashes, and the 


A Day of Work. 


19 


mouth is firm and clear-cut. When she smiles 
she discloses a few dimples, which are not con- 
sidered a requisite when a deaconess is chosen. 
Her chief beauty is her hand, white, shapely, 
and strong. Schwester Paula stares so hard 
that she forgets that her mouth is wide open 
until she meets the full gaze of Anna’s large 
eyes and sees the dimples appear. 

The deaconess work in Frankfort forms the 
chief topic of conversation at supper. Then, 
as the shadows fall, the Bibles are brought, a 
chapter in the gospel of St. John is read, one of 
the dear old German hymns is sung by these 
sweet-voiced women, and then Schwester Lena 
says : “ Schwester Anna, wilt thou pray ? ” 

They all kneel reverently, and like music the 
prayer arises to God. It is perfectly simple, 
perfectly childlike, but their hearts are lifted 
freely to God, and his blessing rests upon the 
worshiping women. 

I never heard anything like that prayer,” 
murmured poor Paula, to herself ; “ God 

seemed to be right there in the room.” 

Soon the bell on the old church rang out the 
curfew. Schwester Paula crept around quietly, 
gathering up the shoes to clean them, in order 
that there should be less to do on the Lord’s 
Day, and night fell on “ Gottestreu.” 


20 


Sch wester Anna. 


CHAPTER III. 
Sabbath at Neuenhain. 

[The Journal qf Schwester Anna.] 


Neuenhain, May 21. 


T last I feel at rest ! During the past three 



months I have seen so much sorrow, so 


much pain, that it seemed as if my heart were 
filled with a weight of care ; that I was bearing 
the sufferings of this poor world on my shoul- 
ders instead of leaving them to the dear, lov- 
ing Saviour, who has borne our griefs and 
carried our sorrows.” 

Here at Neuenhain all is quiet and peace. 
Schwester Lena has given me one of the rooms 
on the top floor ; “ Hermon ” is the name, 
restful in itself. The peaked roof slopes down 
on either side of my room, and in an alcove 
under it stands my narrow bed, draped in 
snowy white. From my window I can look far 
away across the plain, and see the river Main 
winding back and forth through the valley. 
This morning early I heard the church bells 
ring for mass, and at the same time a little 
bird, perched on the cherry tree in front of my 
window, sang me a morning greeting. I got 
up and stood at the window, looking out upon 


Sabbath at Neuenhain. 


21 


the beautiful things which God has given us — 
at the wonderful mingling of green and blue, 
of brown and gray, all covered with a glory of 
golden sunlight. Could I do less than kneel 
down and thank him for allowing us to live in 
such a lovely world ? And then my thoughts 
went back to my city home, to the dark streets, 
the overcrowded rooms, the sickness, and the 
sorrow, and I prayed for those who never had 
seen this landscape, and whose hearts never had 
been filled with the sunshine of God’s presence. 

Soon the dear voice of Schwester Lena 
called, Schwester Anna, art thou ready ? 
The coffee is on the table,” and I hurried down. 

Now, on Sunday morning we have a feast at 
“ Gottestreu.” Instead of our customary rolls 
Schwester Amalie makes delicious “ butter- 
kuchen,” with a sprinkling of sugar and cinna- 
mon on the top, and very good they are too. 
It is also the custom, I find, to have a short 
prayer service after the coffee. It Wc^s very en- 
joyable. We sang several of our good old 
hymns, and then each of us prayed. I was 
especially pleased with Schwester Paula’s 
prayer. It was very simple and plain, but I 
am sure that she has a good heart under all 
her uncouthness, and that she will yet be a 
blessing to our work. 


22 


Schwester Anna. 


Schwester Amalie called after me, as I was 
going up to my room, “ Schwester Anna, wilt 
thou go to church with us ? ” I gladly replied, 
“ Yes." 

So we went down the little path and up the 
steep ^hill to the old church. They have a 
curious way here of utilizing this one place of 
worship for both Catholics and Protestants. 
Just as the bell had called the pious Catholics 
to early mass at five o’clock, it now notified all 
good Lutherans that service would soon begin. 
We Methodists attend the Lutheran church 
when we have no service of our own, and we 
took our places with the others. 

How my mind reverted to former years as I 
sat on the straight, wooden bench and heard 
the singing of the Psalms ! The boy-choir was 
shouting heartily: ^‘The earth is the Lord’s, 
and the fullness thereof ; the world, and they 
that dwell therein.’’ I could not help thinking 
of that old church in Wittenberg, long years 
ago. My mother sat near me, my father was 
on her other side ; across the aisle sat Gottfried 
Herrmann, my childhood’s playmate. We were 
all singing, just as to-day, “ The earth is the 
Lord’s,” “Lift up your heads, O ye gates; 
even lift them up, ye everlasting doors ; and the 
King of glory shall come in.” But the vision 


Sabbath at Neuenhain. 


23 


soon passed. My father I shall never see again 
in this world ; my mother sits alone in the old 
home ; and Gottfried, my fair-haired, sunny- 
faced friend — where is he ? It seems as if my 
heart would break, if it were not for the love 
of our Father in heaven. 

“ Schwester Anna,” whispered Paula, “ hast 
thou noticed the image of the virgin, decorated 
with colored paper flowers, up behind that iron 
railing ? ” 

“ Yes,” I answered. 

“ Well, that is where the priest says mass, 
but thou seest that Pastor Frombach does not 
enter there ; he conducts his service this side 
of it. See, there come the pastor’s family now, 
going into that funny little box. They say he 
has at least five hundred thousand marks, but 
his daughters don’t ” — 

“Hush! Schwester Paula,” said Amalie. 
“ Canst thou not cease thy talking even in 
church ? Thou hast disturbed Schwester Anna 
greatly.” 

“ O, no 1 indeed she has not,” I hastened to 
reply, for I felt that it was a good thing to have 
my vain imaginings and longings interrupted. 

Since my Gottfried went away to America I 
have tried to know as much of that country as 
possible, and have read a good many books 


24 


Schwester Anna. 


about it. An American lady in Frankfort, 
whom I was nursing, lent me a book called 
Hyperion, a most beautiful description of our 
beloved fatherland, in which Mr. Longfellow 
says : “ Look not mournfully into the past ; it 
comes not back again. Wisely improve the 
present ; it is thine. Go forth to meet the dim 
and shadowy future without fear and with a 
manly heart.” This I must try to do. But I 
fear that my mind wandered during the pastor’s 
long discourse, and I was glad when we were 
home again. 

On alternate Sundays one of our preachers 
comes to Neuenhain and holds service for our 
little company of Methodists in a small room. 
As this was the day when there is no meeting, 
we three sisters went out in the afternoon and 
walked through the chestnut grove, up into the 
grain fields. The cornflowers and poppies have 
not come yet, but it will not be long before the 
bright blue and scarlet blossoms will mingle 
their colors with the yellow grain. 

“ Dost thou know, Schwester Anna, that 
there is much suffering among the poor even 
here in Neuenhain?” asked Paula. ‘‘The 
drought has been very bad this year, and the 
poor peasants are cutting their grain while it is 
green, to provide food for their cattle.” 


Sabbath at Neuenhain. 


25 


“Yes,” added Amalie ; “ it is even so. And 
thou wilt notice the little patches of garden, 
how dry they are, and see how the ground is 
cracked here in the grain fields.” 

I could seethe fissures in the dry earth. We 
city people, while enjoying the beautiful clear 
air of this month, have not realized that it 
might mean poverty and ruin to some persons. 

“ Look now,” said Paula, “ and thou wilt see 
Frau Craper carrying down the pails of water 
to sprinkle her few lettuce and potato plants. 
The peas, too, are just up. They grow very 
slowly in this dry weather. I went to see her 
yesterday, and she said that her back ached all 
the time. I offered to rub it for her with some 
liniment, but after a short time she begged me 
to stop. She said I rubbed so hard that the 
skin would soon be rubbed off.” 

“ What didst thou do then ? ” I asked, being 
much interested in this odd sister. 

“ O, I stopped, for I knew my hand was a little 
rough. Really, though, I meant to help her, and 
I thought the best way to do that was to water 
her garden for her.” 

“ Well, thou wilt not get much time for that. 
Thou hast all thou canst do now to water our 
garden. It almost kills me to help thee,” said 
Amalie. 


26 


Sch wester Anna. 


I can manage it. I went out last evening, 
after I had finished all the work, and gave the 
poor plants a better drink than they have had 
in a long while. And to-morrow morning, if I 
get up an hour earlier, I can do it before 
Schwester Lena is awake.” 

“ Do so, if thou wishest,” rejoined Schwester 
Amalie ; “ but our own work is all that I can do.” 

“ Thou canst nurse, and I can’t,” responded 
Paula. “ But, thank God, I can at least carry 
the heavy weights for the weak ones.” 

I am very glad to meet Schwester Paula. 
She has a noble character, I am convinced. 

Just as we were nearing home, Schwester 
Amalie returned again to the subject of the dry 
weather. I am sure we shall have sickness 
this summer, after all the drought. Thou wilt 
need all thy strength, Schwester Anna.” 

“ Why dost thou think so ? ” I asked. 

“ It is always so. If we do not have the chol- 
era this summer, I am a poor prophet.” 

“The cholera!” called Schwester Lena’s voice. 
“ Schwester Amalie, I am astonished that thou 
shouldst even suggest it to Schwester Anna, 
who is already so worn out with work. Thou 
art ever looking on the dark side of things. 
Come into the house, sisters. It is getting cool, 
now that the sun is down,’ 


Sabbath at Neuenhain. 


27 


The sun had gone down behind the hill, but “ 
the soft twilight lingered, and the air was fra- 
grant with the delicate odor of apple blossoms. 

“ Sch wester Lena may say that I am a dark 
prophet ; but thou wilt see. Before the sum- 
mer is past there will be calls for nurses for 
cholera patients.” 

“ If so, I shall go,” said Paula. “ I am sure 
that my strong arms would be of use there.” 

“ It would scarcely be any use for me to go, 
for I should be sure to catch the cholera,” re- 
sponded Amalie. But, as ill luck would have 
it, Schwester Lena heard the last word, and 
Amalie was hurried off to get the supper on the 
table. 

This evening we sat on the veranda, singing 
some of our twilight hymns, and watching the 
light twinkle all over the valley. Across at the 
inn of the “ Three Bears ” a merry party was 
singing a “ Volkslied,” and answering voices 
came from the hill behind our house. 

This is my first entry in my new journal. It 
is for you that I write it, mother. I have not 
forgotten your request that I should begin it, al- 
though I have waited until my vacation, in order 
that I might have more leisure time in which 
to write. You told me it would be a comfort 


28 


Sch wester Anna. 


to you, and perhaps a help to others, to read 
something of the life of a Christian deaconess. 
You asked me also to write an account of my 
life, so that anyone, into whose hands these 
pages might fall, in after years, could obtain a 
connected look at my surroundings and influ- 
ences in my girlhood. I fail to see that my 
simple story can do any good, for it is like that 
of so many others — ^just the life of an ordinary 
woman — but as you wish it, I will do it. 

When I think of living over again those years, 
of committing to writing the thoughts and pur- 
poses of my life, my joys and sorrows, my heart 
fails me. To-morrow I will begin it. To-night, 
let me listen to the singing as it comes to me 
on the warm air. I feel that God is leading 
me, and has led me all these years. “ The earth 
is the Lord’s’' and all “ they that dwell therein.” 


Annans Story. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

Annans Story* 

T WENTY-FIVE years ago I was born at 
Wittenberg. Mother has told me of the 
many bright sayings that my family admired, 
but my memory does not go so far back as that. 
Since I can remember my career has been an 
extremely commonplace one. I have indistinct 
recollections of walking through a dark street 
where the houses seemed to reach almost to the 
sky, for I was such a tiny creature, and of play- 
ing near my mother as she sat in our summer 
house knitting gray stockings for my father. 
Dear father ! how well I remember his sitting 
with us and watching mother with lovelit eyes 
as she went about her work so quietly and gently. 

My father was a printer, and, as so often 
happens in our towns and villages, he had in- 
herited the business from his father and father’s 
father. The line of printers extended far back 
to the sixteenth century, when my ancestor, 
Hans Lufift, an honored patriarch of Witten- 
berg, printed for Dr. Martin Luther the Bible 
in our own tongue. We have a copy, very old 
and worn, and very valuable, they say, which 
our great ancestor owned and from which he 


30 


Schwester Anna. 


used to read daily, while his wife and children, 
in their quaint dress, listened earnestly to the 
book which was so new to them. 

What a cause for thankfulness we have that 
Dr. Luther gave to our nation a Bible ! And I 
cannot help feeling a little proud that the man 
who, by printing it, helped to multiply the copies 
of the Scriptures, was of our race. He printed 
more than one hundred thousand copies of the 
Bible, and for sixty years was an intimate friend 
of the great reformer. A dingy painting of 
Hans Lufft, made by his friend, Lucas Cranach, 
hung for many years in our best room. He is 
represented as having a pleasant, benevolent 
countenance ; he wears a broad fur cap and has 
his beard curiously braided. We kept the pic- 
ture until it was placed in a collection of por- 
traits of eminent printers. 

Many an evening after my mother and I had 
helped Gretchen, our maid, to put away the 
supper things, we would bring our knitting and 
sit down by the old porcelain stove. While we 
worked busily, my father would light his long 
black pipe and lean back in his armchair. If 
he said nothing, but sat meditating, I often 
ventured to ask : “ Father, wilt thou not tell me 
about the old stove ? 

Sometimes he answered gently : “ Not to- 


Anna's Story. 


31 


night, daughter.” But more frequently he 
would lay down his pipe and tell me to draw 
my stool closer. 

“ Then I can smooth thy hair, my daughter, 
thy beautiful hair, so like thy mother’s when she 
was thine age. Ach, Martha, dost thou remem- 
ber those days when we played together ? ” 

“Just as Gottfried and I do now, father?” 

My father smiled, but did not answer. Then 
he softly smoothed my flaxen braids. I never 
thought my hair pretty, but father did, because 
it resembled mother’s. And Gottfried — yes, 
'Gottfried — called it melted gold when the sun- 
shine touched it with its illuminating rays while 
we were playing in the garden ; but Gottfried 
was only a boy and did not know much. 

“ And so thou wilt hear once more the story 
of the old stove ? ” 

“Yes, father.” 

“ I should think thou wouldst tire of it. Thou 
rememberest thy grandfather, Anna, but my 
grandfather thou didst not know. He was a 
fine old man, and, it is said, greatly resembled 
one great-great-grandfather, the honored Hans 
Lufift.” Here my father never failed to press 
his hand to his breast, while with the other he 
gave a respectful military salute. 

“ Years and years ago Hans Lufft owned this 


32 


Schwester Anna. 


stove,” he continued. “ Dost thou not see the 
figures of the evangelists wrought in the dark 
brown tiles, and the emblems of the arts and 
sciences in these lighter colored blocks ? They 
are exactly like those in the stove now standing 
in the old monastery. Dr. Luther bought that 
one for Catharina, his bride, when they went 
to housekeeping there.” 

“ Tell me quickly, father,” I cried, for he was 
deep in meditation. Any reference to the Ref- 
ormation times seemed to carry him back to 
the days of his youth, when he, too, listened 
to stories as he sat near his father. 

“ Hans Lufft’s son was very fond of a young 
maiden, Kathchen Krafft, who lived across the 
street from his father’s handsome house. 
Kathchen was good and sweet, but her father 
was the village baker, and it would never do to 
have the son of a printer marry into such a 
family. So, when Hans announced that he 
loved Kathchen and asked his father’s permission 
to make her his wife, there was a great deal of 
trouble. The mother wept, for she loved her 
son dearly. When Hans Lufft found that his 
boy was determined to marry Kathchen he said : 
' Very well. Go thine own way, my son, and I 
will go mine ; but not a groschen will I leave 
thee, and thou must care for thy dowerless bride.’ 


Anna's Story. 


33 


“ ^ She is not dowerless, father, she is beauti- 
ful and true-hearted, and she has a pair of will- 
ing hands that are not afraid of work.’ 

“ This touched the old man, for he admired 
a woman who could work, believing that women 
were made to take care of men. 

‘“I’ll tell thee what I will do,’ he said. 

‘ Perhaps there is something in thy Kathchen 
after all, though I do not like her father, nor his 
profession. It’s all very well for a woman to 
bake and brew ; but a man — bah ! he was made 
for better things. Now, if thy Kathchen, 
though she does not look as if she could do any- 
thing, can bake me better honey cakes than 
thy mother makes, I’ll give thee one present 
and consent to thy marriage. But, mind, she 
must do all the work herself.’ ” 

“ How old was Kathchen, father ? ” I 
asked. Although I had heard the story fifty 
times, I was always intensely interested in it. 

“ She was just fifteen,” father replied. 

“Just a year older than I am, yet a youth 
wanted to marry her,” I said, meditatively. 

“ She was entirely too young for any such 
nonsense,” exclaimed the mother, from the 
other side of the table, and her knitting nee- 
dles clicked ominously. “ I cannot think what 
her parents were about, to allow such a thing. 

3 


34 


Schwester Anna. 


“ Well, girls married younger in those days, 
mutterchen, and if my memory serves me right 
thou wast only fifteen when I ” — 

Hans,” replied my mother, “ the child must 
go to bed. Thou must hurry with thy story.” 

I was very much disappointed at this, for I 
was usually obliged to go to bed when my 
father reached any particular personal reminis- 
cence, and I was hoping for better things to- 
night. 

“ Ach, Anna, thy mother fears that I shall 
put new thoughts in thy mind,” he said, as his 
eyes twinkled merrily. 

“ Go on, please, dear father.” He smoothed 
my hair again. 

“ Kathchen, of course, was much troubled at 
this request from the honored old man. She 
had often assisted her mother to make the 
honey cakes at Christmas time, but to make 
them herself, without help from anyone, that 
was hard indeed. Then, too, they must be 
better than those which Frau Lufft made, and 
her delicious kuchen were famed throughout 
Wittenberg. But Kathchen dearly loved 
young Hans, and he was sure that she would 
succeed, and she must. So she went to work 
and baked the best honey cakes ever seen in 
our village ; perfect in shape, light as feathers. 


Anna's Story. 


35 


sweet enough to melt in one’s mouth, and deli- 
cately browned. Just such as thy mother 
makes, my dear,” and he glanced lovingly across 
at mother. 

“ But tell about the stove, father.” 

“ Ah, yes ! When the revered Hans Lufft 
ate those honey cakes his heart warmed to the 
maiden and he said : ‘ My son, thou hast chosen 
well. Thy wife will make thy home happy. 
Even though thou canst not always live on honey 
cakes, if she can make these she can cook any- 
thing.’ So they had a joyous betrothal, but 
to their disappointment the only present the 
father gave them was this porcelain stove. 
‘ He might have given them something better 
than that,’ complained Kathchen’s mother. 
‘ Perhaps he will, later,’ said her father. But he 
never did. 

“ Now comes the strange part of the story. 
Young Hans did not prosper. Kathchen kept 
the house beautifully, but the groschen were 
few. In five years three babies came to make 
the home happier, but the little mouths must be 
filled. Old Hans Lufft died very suddenly 
when he was eighty-nine years old, and the 
business passed to the oldest son, Georg, who 
had very little love for the brother who had 
contracted what he called a low marriage. 


36 


Schwester Anna. 


Gradually Hans drifted away from his friends 
and became very poor. 

One day, when the oldest child was four 
years old, he was playing around the brown 
porcelain stove. With his little fingers he had 
dug and dug about one of the tiles which struck 
his fancy until it became loosened and fell out. 
Underneath it he saw something yellow, some- 
thing pretty, and in a moment he held it in his 
hand. It was round and made a fine plaything, 
and he amused himself with it until his mother 
came. In an instant she saw the broken place 
in the stove, and exclaimed : ^ Hans ’ (for this 
was a third Hans) — As thou art the eighth, 
father,” I interjected — ‘ Hans, what hast thou 
done ? ’ 

“ ‘ I am sorry, mamma,’ replied the child ; 
‘ but see what a pretty plaything I found.’ 

‘‘ ‘ It’s gold, child,’ cried the mother, running 
with the joyful news to her husband.” 

“ Were they poor any longer? ” I asked. 

^‘No, Anna. Under each tile they found 
five gold pieces, enough to establish them in 
good business. Then the stove was put to- 
gether again, as it looks to-day.” 

“ I wonder which tile it was that little Hans 
loosened,” I said. 

“ Come, Anna, say good night to thy father,” 


Anna's Story. 37 

said the mother’s voice. ** Take thy candle 
and go.’ 

I went, but my mind was full of Kathchen 
and Hans. Did he look anything like Gott- 
fried ? I wondered. Was he tall and had he 
beautiful curls and bright blue eyes ? And 
when he looked at Kathchen did he have the 
same kind look that Gottfried had when we 
talked together? 

“ Ah, me ! those days are far behind me now. 
I love to recall them ; to see in memory my 
father and mother in their accustomed places ; 
to see Gottfried’s winning smile. But it makes 
me sad too. I am a woman now, with a life to 
live and a work to do ; a woman with a weary 
heart whose burden is borne by the loving 
Saviour who said : * Come unto me, all ye that 
labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
rest.’ ” 


38 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER V. 

In Wittenberg;* 

W ITTENBERG is a charming town. Of 
course I think so, because it is my 
home, but other people have the same opinion, 
or else so many travelers would not come to 
look at it. Naturally, the fact that it was 
here that Dr. Martin Luther and his wife and 
children lived and worked, and that Dr. Luther 
and Dr. Melanchthon rest in our old church 
side by side brings many persons here. How 
many tales my father has told me of the days 
when the monks lived in the old Augustinian 
monastery ; when Dr. Luther nailed the theses 
on the old wooden doors of our Schlosskirche, 
and when he marched at the head of a long 
procession out to where the tall oak now stands 
in front of Baron Bromfeld’s chateau, and 
burned the papal bull. He told me how Dr. 
Martin and his gentle companion, Dr. Philip, 
wearing their robes of black, walked through 
our long village street or sat talking together 
under the shade of the great trees in Dr. 
Melanchthon’s beautiful garden. 

Many descendants of the devoted men who 
were active in the work of the Reformation 


39 


In Wittenberg. 

are still living here. Down near the market 
place, Lucas Cranach’s house still stands, and 
his great-great-great-grandsons keep up the 
drug business with which the famous artist in- 
creased his wealth. 

But I must go on with my own life, or my 
story will weary those who read it — if such 
there be in after days. 

As I look back upon our home it seems like a 
happy dream. Yet there the mother sits to-day, 
thinking of her only daughter and loving her 
just as she did years ago. We had along gar- 
den in front of our house. A gravel path led 
up from the cobblestoned street, between beds 
of roses, lilies, and pansies. This garden was. 
my father’s delight. When he came home 
tired from the day’s labor he would work a little 
among his flowers, stopping, now and then, to 
say a pleasant Guten Abend ! ” to a passing 
neighbor, or to call my mother’s attention to 
the last rays of sunlight as they touched the 
square towers of the parish church. 

A broad door opened, from the low porch, 
into a square hall running through the center 
of the house. At the rear of the hall was a 
door into our vegetable garden, and other doors 
led into the kitchen, best room, father’s library, 
and mother’s sewing room. The hall, paved 


40 


Schwester Anna. 


with large brown stones, with its two windows 
having small, round panes at least three hundred 
years old, was our living room. Here stood 
Hans Lufft’s old brown porcelain stove, with 
high-backed carved chairs near it for my father 
and mother. On a square table of carved ma- 
hogany Gretchen spread our simple meals. In 
one corner was my father’s violin case, for he 
occasionally played that sweetest of all instru- 
ments with some skill. In each window were 
boxes of blossoming plants. Near my father’s 
chair was my seat, a low stool, and between 
that and mother’s chair stood a table, on which 
was mother’s workbasket, always piled full of 
mending or garments for the poor, and two 
heavy, beautifully chased silver candlesticks. 
The mother made her own candles, for she never 
liked store candles.” 

On a mild evening, when the warm air, laden 
with the fragrance of flowers, came in at the 
open doors, the soft light of the candles illumi- 
nated the faces of my father and mother, bring- 
ing out their profiles against the dark shadows 
beyond them, just as the cameos which I have 
seen bring out against the dark background 
the clear lines of the carved face. My mother’s 
hair was silver. It is now snowy white. She 
combed it down smoothly under a soft lace 


In Wittenberg. 


41 


cap. Her hands were white and beautiful. It 
mattered not what work she did, her hands 
were always soft. In her cheeks was a pretty 
rosy color, and her eyes were gentle and bright. 

From one corner of this room winding stairs 
led up to a low-ceiled hall, where several carved 
chests and wardrobes held our clothing, or in 
which the mother carefully packed away winter 
garments, to protect them from the moths. 
Four or five doors opened into as many sleep- 
ing rooms. 

Sunday mornings my mother would call : 
“Anna, art thou ready for church ? The bells 
are ringing.” 

When I descended the stairs I found my 
parents waiting. 

“ Come, child,” said father, “ and I will hold 
thy hand, so that all the people may see my 
daughter.” 

I was the only child, and the neighbors 
seemed to think that my father was greatly 
afflicted because he had no son to bear his 
name ; but my father only laughed. “ My 
Anna is worth ten sons,” he said. “ A boy 
will go out into the world and leave us, but a 
daughter is our comfort and our support.” 

So, on Sunday mornings, we would go hand 
in hand through the long Castle Street ; past 


42 


Schwester Anna. 


the old Rathhaus with its curious roof ; past 
the statues of Luther and Melanchthon ; past a 
long row of gray houses, and then across an 
open square, until we reached the Castle 
Church. We were strong Lutherans, and my 
father had no sympathy with those who started 
any enterprise outside of the State Church. 
But there were a few dissenters in Wittenberg 
in those days. 

We exchanged many greetings with friends as 
we passed along. My father, on account of his 
illustrious descent, his fine business ability, and, 
not least of all, his genial, kindly, and yet digni- 
fied character, was highly respected in our 
town. From the bright glare of sunshine in the 
square we went into the subdued, shadowy 
light of the old church. The old doorway was 
the same which Dr. Luther has made interest- 
ing to the whole world. The bronze doors, 
which now replace the original wooden ones 
(burned a hundred years ago) where the young 
monk nailed his public remonstrance against in- 
dulgence sellers, were always interesting to me. 
They are covered with elaborate reliefs repre- 
senting the subjects of the ninety-five theses. 

My imagination — which, alas ! is often too 
vivid, especially at the wrong time — wandered 
during the long services in this grand old 


In Wittenberg. 43 

church to the day when Wittenberg was pre- 
paring to celebrate the feast of All Saints. 
Think of the crowds of peasants, monks, 
priests, men, women, and children who pressed 
around the doorway to see the fearless monk 
as he nailed his paper to the door! Think 
how these strangers carried away copies of 
these bold theses to their homes and con- 
vents ; how the news spread ; how the work of 
the Reformation began ! Yet it is even so in 
all things. Great deeds may be accomplished 
by our weak means. A sick woman is cared 
for, we deaconesses teach her the truths of the 
Gospel, she is converted, and one soul is saved. 
What a grand thought it is, and what a glo- 
rious work for us who are pledged to do our 
best I 

But those Sabbath mornings, when I went 
hand in hand with father into the carved pew 
which our family had occupied for nearly three 
centuries, my mind was not filled with such 
deep thoughts as these. Our fifteen-year-old 
maidens are not prone to very great serious- 
ness. I looked about for my friends. Across 
the aisle was Margaretta Schmidt, my dearest 
school friend. On our left were Gottfried’s 
father and mother and a whole seatful of chil- 
dren, at whose head sat the seventeen-year-old 


44 


Schwester Anna. 


boy who had been my playmate from child- 
hood, almost from infancy. 

The colored light came through the quaint, 
old stained-glass windows. In one end of the 
church was the monument which marks the 
resting place of the Askanian dukes who ruled 
Wittenberg a thousand years ago. Near the 
pulpit is the slab marked “ Dr. Martin Lu- 
ther,” and on the opposite side of the aisle is a 
similar piece of brass, bearing the name “ Dr. 
Philip Melanchthon.” Near the altar rest the 
Saxon electors, Frederick the Wise and John 
the Constant, who were so friendly to the re- 
formers. 

Our altar is very plain, with only a large 
crucifix, flanked by silver candlesticks, to orna- 
ment it. It scarcely seems possible that there 
was a time, four hundred years ago, when 
bright images, colored decorations, and many 
candles adorned the altar, and gorgeously 
attired priests intoned the service. Five thou- 
sand and five relics were kept here, and at the 
feast of All Saints, hundreds of people rever- 
ently knelt on the cold stone floor when the 
precious things were exhibited. And all this 
change has been wrought by means of those 
good men who lie so silently there. Un- 
doubtedly the tales of the days of the Refor- 


In Wittenberg. 45 

mation and the life which I led for twenty 
years amid associations which fairly teemed 
with interest, aroused in my young mind 
thoughts of the duty of man to man, and of 
man to the great God, which I did not at the 
time realize. My after life was, probably, in- 
fluenced by them to a large degree. 

In direct contrast to the Catholics we Luther- 
ans stood when we prayed and sat when we 
sang. When the dear old, white-haired pas- 
tor, who had been with us for fifty years — had 
buried the dead, married the youths and 
maidens, and baptized their children into the 
bonds of the State Church — ascended the 
beautiful pulpit, we all rose to hear the text. 
Then came the long sermon, when we children 
allowed our thoughts to wander at will, and 
the elders who occupied stalls along the side 
of the church took delightful little naps. My 
father never napped, but listened with great 
interest to the discourse, although he might 
have heard it a dozen times before. Our good 
pastor believed that a sermon was more ef- 
fective if it were thoroughly drilled into the 
minds of his flock. My mother, however, 
whose body was weary with the work which 
she had done about the house on Saturday, 
slumbered gently until she was aroused by a 


46 


Schwester Anna. 


sonorous “ Amen.” We all stood up, while our 
pastor read a short Lutheran prayer service, 
including petitions for our brave old Kaiser 
Wilhelm and his family; we sang a psalm and 
passed slowly out of the church. 

As we went I chanced to pass near Gottfried, 
who reached out his hand to greet me. 

“ Good morning, my Anna. Thou art as 
fresh as a rose this June day. Is that a new 
gown that thou wearest? ” 

It was, but I did not think he would notice 
it. 

My mother and I made it last week. Dost 
thou think it pretty, Gottfried ? ” 

“ It is beautiful, but not so much so as the 
face above it. Thine eyes are bluer than the 
gown, and thy cheeks rosier than the buds 
thou wearest in thy belt.” 

Now, Gottfried had often said such things to 
me before, but they never had affected me as 
they did that morning. To my surprise and 
dismay, I felt my cheeks getting hotter and 
hotter, just as they felt when my father re- 
buked me for wrongdoing and I was ashamed. 
My eyes fell under the laughing glance of those 
other blue ones. 

“ Ach, Anna ! wherefore blushest thou ? 
Surely those things are true.” 


In Wittenberg. 


47 


I could not tell him, but just then the story 
of Hans Lufift and Kathchen flashed through 
my mind. Was that the way Hans talked to 
Kathchen ? Gottfried could not understand my 
silence, and, thinking he had offended me 
by not sufficiently admiring the dress which 
mother and I had so much trouble to make, he 
said, hastily : “ Never mind, Anna, I did not 
mean to offend thee. Thy dress is very fine 
and very becoming.” 

Thou hast not offended me, Gottfried.” I 
did not add that his loving words had given 
me a curious warmth in my heart. I still felt 
very shy. As our parents had finished the 
conversation with their friends they called us, 
Gottfried shook my hand warmly — we Ger- 
mans are very fond of handshakings and 
greetings — and said : “ Auf wiedersehen, Anna. 
Wilt thou come down to the willow by the 
river this afternoon, if the mother is willing? ” 

“ What time, Gottfried?” 

“ O, about three I think is best, when the 
sun is warm. I will bring a book and read 
aloud, and we can have a good time.” 

“ I will come gladly, Gottfried. Auf wie- 
dersehen ! ” 

I joined my parents, but not before Mar- 
garetta, whom I loved very much, but of 


48 


Schwester Anna. 


whom, strange to my mind, the mother did 
not at all approve, had come close to me. 

“ Ach, liebchen, thou art talking again to 
thy handsome Gottfried. Thou must be care- 
ful, for his ladylove has been watching thee.” 

Then she hurried off. 

What could she mean ? This question 
puzzled me all the way home. 

“ Why art thou so silent, little daughter? ” 
asked the mother’s pleasant voice. 

“ I am thinking, mother.” 

“ Thinking ! That must be indeed a weighty 
matter for thee, sweetheart,” said my father. 

“Mother,” I said, “what could Margaretta 
mean when she told me to be cautious about 
talking to Gottfried, because his mother was 
watching us ? ” 

I saw my father and mother exchange 
glances. 

“ It is difficult to tell, darling. Perhaps 
Frau Herrmann thinks that thou art growing 
too large a maiden to play more with her son, 
who will soon be a man. Maybe it is not 
seemly for thee to stand talking with him too 
much.” 

“ But, mother, he is my old playmate, and I 
love him dearly. Why is there more harm in 
my talking with him now than there was years 


In Wittenberg. 


49 


ago ? ” The tears were very near my eyes 
now, for a separation from Gottfried would 
give me great pain. My mother held my hand 
and pressed it closer to her. 

“ My child, many things are difficult to un- 
derstand, but thou must consent to be guided 
by thy father’s wishes and mine ; wilt thou 
not ? ” 

Yes, mother, gladly, for I know thou wilt 
do all right. But, mother dear, do not say 
that I cannot go to sit with Gottfried when he 
wants me. He asked me to come down by 
the river this afternoon at three o’clock to’ ‘read 
and talk. Please do not say that I cannot 

go-" 

do not know, Anna, it is hard to tell 
what is right to say. Thou art getting to be a 
woman. I would not have Frau Herrmann, 
who is a proud lady, say that we are throwing 
our daughter in her son’s way. What sayest 
thou, my Hans? ” 

“ Let the child go to-day, wife. See ! her 
blue eyes are already clouded with tears.” 
And my kind father drew me to him. We 
were now in our own garden walking up the 
gravel path. 

“Look, mother! Our pet rose is just going 
to bloom. Thou must tend it very carefully 
4 


50 


Schwester Anna. 


now, that no blight come upon it, and we shall 
have a gorgeous show of blossoms, such as the 
neighbors have never seen.” 

My mind was soon diverted ; but as we went 
into the house, half an hour later, having made 
the round of the garden and looked over our 
beloved plants, I heard a few words ex- 
changed between my father and mother. 

“ Hans, dost thou not see that there will 
soon be trouble about Gottfried and Anna? 
The Herrmanns will never allow such a thing.” 

Our child’s heart will be broken, mother. 
She is completely bound up in the lad, and so, 
I believe, is he in her.” 

“ It is indeed sad,” sighed the mother; “ but 
the good Lord brings all things out right. He 
rules the world.” 

What would break my heart ? Why did I 
feel so strange, so happy, when Gottfried spoke 
those kind words that morning? Why did 
Gottfried’s mother watch us ? Those were 
mysteries to my childish mind which occupied 
my thoughts until it came time to tie on my 
broad-brimmed white hat with its flaming blue 
bows and go down to meet Gottfried. 


Down by the Elbe. 


51 


CHAPTER VL 
Down by the Elbe* 

HE river Elbe flows quite irregularly 



1 around our little city. On one side of it 
lie broad, green meadows, which are crossed, 
here and there, by well-worn paths leading out 
into the open country. Across the meadows 
rise the chimneys of some smaller villages. It 
is said that it was in one of these suburban 
towns that Frau Luther, our beloved Dr. 
Martin’s wife, found her last resting place. Of 
course it was impossible that she should lie 
near her husband in the Castle Church, for no 
women are buried there except the princesses 
of the Askanian line, who died so many, many 
years ago. Probably there are some others of 
the family buried near Catharina Luther, who 
keep her company in her long rest until the 
great resurrection day ; but it is four hundred 
years since she died, and we know very little of 
those moss-covered, moldering tombs. 

Along the banks of the Elbe are many beau- 
tiful willows, bending low over the narrow 
stream, and the river is spanned, here and 
there, by pretty rustic bridges. In one spot 


52 


Schwester Anna. 


five willows had sprouted from one root, and 
in the growth of centuries had become large, 
handsome trees. In the joint, where they 
separated one from the other, Gottfried had 
made a broad board seat which accommodated 
four persons comfortably. We two had sat 
there many bright days in the years when we 
played together, and our schoolmates were glad 
to join us. 

As I neared the river and crossed the little 
bridge, I saw that Gottfried was already in 
our trysting place, and was lying very comfort- 
ably stretched out on the long bench, evidently 
deeply interested in the book which he was 
reading. He did not hear me until I commenced 
to mount the steps leading up into the 
group of trees. Then he raised his head, and, 
jumping up quickly, exclaimed: ‘‘Ach, An- 
nachen ! is it thou ? Thou art late. I have 
been waiting fully half an hour.” 

But, Gottfried, it cannot be more than 
three o’clock. Our old clock pointed to the 
quarter when I left the house.” 

“Well, thy old clock is slow. Anything 
that belonged to thy old ancestor, Hans Lufft, 
four hundred years ago must be a little behind 
time. Certainly the antique Hans himself 
would be a little out of style if he should fancy 


Down by the Elbe. 


53 


to come back here now. My ! How astonished 
he would be ! 

I laughed heartily. Gottfried had the great- 
est possible respect for my honored ancestor, 
but he was a boy, and even German boys, who 
grow up in an atmosphere which is heavy with 
the thoughts and customs of the centuries past, 
are occasionally irreverent. I should not have 
cared that my father, who always referred to 
Hans Lufft with such respect, should hear 
Gottfried speak of him as the “ antique Hans ; ” 
but I was young, and rather enjoyed the 
joke. 

“ Perhaps our old clock is behind time, I do 
not know ; but it is certainly valuable, and 
thou knowest that money is more than age, in 
thy eyes, Gottfried. Thou art fond enough of 
the luxuries it can buy,” I said, rather enjoy- 
ing giving my companion a slight hit. 

He was known among us as rather a dandy. 
H is hair was always very smooth, except 
where the curls would persist in sticking up, in 
spite of brushing ; his linen was always spotless, 
and his clothes were made in the latest style. 

Thou art right, my Anna, I like comfort,” 
laughed Gottfried, flinging a pebble into the 
smooth mirror of water w'hich lay below us. 

See ! I have brought a whole pocketful of 


54 


Schwester Anna. 


pebbles for thee to throw into the water. Thou 
art still such a child that thou enjoyest play.” 

“ Indeed, I am not a child. It was only this 
morning that my mother said I was getting to 
be a woman. She said I must not ” — I stopped 
in confusion. Gottfried and I had always 
told each other everything, and it was strange 
to me to have to stop myself. And yet, it did 
not quite suit me to tell him that mother had 
said that I was getting too big to come and 
talk to him. Suppose he should agree with 
her ! My heart sank at the thought. 

“ What did she say thou shouldst not do, 
Anna? Tear thy gown, or eat up the mother’s 
jam and honey cakes? Tell me, quickly.” 

“ I cannot tell thee, Gottfried. It was really 
nothing. See ! there go Margaretta Schmidt 
and her brother across the fields.” 

We sat silently watching them. It was a 
clear June day. The air was warm and sweet, 
just as it always is in our spring and early 
summer. There can surely be no land where 
the spring days are more glorious than ours ! 
The sun shines so brightly, the flowers bloom 
for very joy, and the birds open their tiny 
throats and carol so gleefully in our German 
fatherland. 

This Sabbath afternoon crowds of Witten- 


55 


Down by the Elbe. 

bergers were going out into the country. My 
father preferred to sit quietly in our pleasant 
garden, under the shade of the tall linden trees, 
with mother near him. Then they would talk 
together of olden days, when life was new and 
fresh to them. If I was home I sat by them 
and listened interestedly. Or, sometimes, fa- 
ther would take down Hans Lufft’s old Bible, 
and read from its queerly printed pages words 
of holy men, written by inspiration of God’s 
Holy Spirit. 

The neighbors, however, were not wont to 
spend their “ Festtag ” in that way. Most of 
them started out, about two o’clock, for a long 
walk across the fields to the surrounding vil- 
lages. There, in some quiet restaurant garden, 
where a roof of green leaves, formed by trim- 
ming the sycamore trees into the shape of flat 
umbrellas, shielded them from the sun, they 
sat down and ate and drank. The father, 
mother, and all the children down to the baby 
joined in the excursion, and even the bare- 
headed ‘‘Madchen,” whose braidsweresmoother 
than ever, and were twined all around her 
head, accompanied the merry party. Since I 
have learned better, and know how the holy 
Sabbath should be kept, I can see that my 
father understood more of the true Scripture 


56 


Schwester Anna. 


Sabbath ; but in those days, when Gottfried 
and I watched the black crowds of people, big 
and little, as they crossed the meadows, I 
thought nothing of it. 

Our pastor and his family were, doubtless, 
among them. The good old man would re- 
turn for service, which was very short, at five 
o’clock, and then, rejoining his family, would 
spend the evening out where the newmown 
grass was so sweet and where the sound of the 
“ Volkslieder ” filled the soft air. 

“ Margaretta looks very fine to-day,” said 
Gottfried, as we watched the boy and girl com- 
ing toward us. “ I think she has a new gown 
as well as thou, Annachen.” 

There was a little pain in my heart. Did he 
think that her cheeks were rosy and her eyes 
bright ? It was all right, even if he did, for 
Margaretta certainly was a pretty girl, and I 
loved her very much. 

Yes, she has a new dress, Gottfried, and it 
is much finer than mine, for it was made by 
Fraulein Klein, who is the best dressmaker in 
town.” 

“ Hum,” muttered Gottfried ; “ I think the 
one thy mother made, with thy help, is much 
prettier. Margaretta’s has too many furbe- 
lows and she looks like a woman, instead of a 


Down by the Elbe. 


57 


sweet little girl, as thou appearest in thine.” 
He threw me a bright glance. 

“ Hush ! don’t call her ! ” he exclaimed, as I 
opened my mouth to do so, and leaned over 
the edge of the tree. “ If she comes herself 
we cannot help it, but don’t call her. She 
will stay all the afternoon, and spoil all our 
fun.” 

Why, I thought thou likedst Margaretta, 
Gottfried. You were always good friends.” 

Ach ! I like Margaretta well enough, usually; 
but to-day I want to talk with thee, and we 
have not read one word yet. Alas ! it is too 
late. Here she comes,” he added under his 
breath. 

They had caught sight of us, and even then 
Margaretta’s new hat was appearing above the 
step. 

“ So, thou thoughtest we could not see thee, 
Anna. My eyes caught sight of thy blue dress, 
and I knew Gottfried was not far off.” She 
gave a laughing glance at him as she spoke, 
which somehow sent a chill through me ; it was 
like a young lady. Were we really growing 
up, as mother said ? Margaretta did certainly 
look very fine. She had an entirely new out- 
fit, from head to foot. Her broad leghorn hat 
had white ribbon trimming with bunches of 


58 


Sch wester Anna. 


brilliant blue cornflowers among the bows. 
She was two years older than myself, and wore 
her glossy black braids in a knot at the back 
of her head. Her hair was fluffed out around 
her face in a manner which my father detested. 
Her gray dress was cut open a little at the 
neck, and peeping out of the soft lace was a 
heavy golden locket, attached to an elaborate 
chain. On her hands were rings and on her 
wrists showy bracelets. Even her shoes were 
new and of a new-fashioned shape, very nar- 
row at the toes. I drew in my broad-toed 
boots with shame. She was very quick and 
saw me do this. 

“Hast thou noticed my new shoes, Anna? 
They are the very latest style. In fact, my 
whole costume is made after the recent fash- 
ions in Berlin. Dost thou think it pretty? ” 

“ Very pretty, Margaretta.” 

“And thou, Gottfried ? ” 

“Ach, yes! It is pretty, but it seems to 
me that there is a good deal of it.” 

“ That is the way with all the girls’ dresses 
now, Gottfried,” spoke up Georg, Margaretta’s 
brother. “And they think of nothing except 
their clothes.” 

I looked down at my dress, for I wore the 
blue one which mother and I had taken such 


Down by the Elbe. 


59 


pains to make. It was a plain, full skirt, fas- 
tened to a round waist, and mother had made 
me a sash to wear with it. In my neck and 
sleeves I had some narrow white lace, fifty 
years old, very fine and soft. It had been 
laundered many times by mother’s careful fin- 
gers. I wore only one ring, a little ruby, 
which my father had given to me when I was 
ten years old, because I had learned to read so 
well that I could read his newspaper aloud to 
him in the evenings, when he was tired. 

“Thou hast not spoken of Anna’s dress,” 
said Gottfried, pulling one of my long braids. “ If 
girls are so fond of dress Anna must be just 
pining to have us say something nice about hers.” 

I looked at him reproachfully, but he only 
laughed. 

“ O ! it is very nice,” said Margaretta, tak- 
ing in the whole at a glance. “ But, of course, 
it is old style and very childish. Anna is two 
years younger than I, and it is naturally more 
suitable for her.” 

“ It seems to me much prettier than thine, 
Margaretta,” said Georg, smiling at me. 

I had never liked Georg much ; for he was a 
silent, moody fellow, an excellent student, far 
surpassing Gottfried, but considered rather 
uninteresting by us girls. 


60 


Sch wester Anna. 


'‘Thou art a boy, Georg,” said Margaretta, 
scornfully. “ I never could understand why 
thou dost not wear any jewels, Anna. And 
thy mother, too, dresses so plainly. It is not 
that thou canst not afford to buy the pretty 
things, for everybody knows that thy father 
has piles of gold. Is he too stingy to buy them 
for thee ? ” 

" He is not stingy at all,” I cried, indig- 
nantly, the tears coming into my eyes. " He 
loves us dearly and gives us all we want. 
Mother says I am too young for showy jewelry, 
and she says she is too old, and she will give 
the money to those who haven’t even dresses 
to clothe themselves with. I am to have a 
gold watch when I am eighteen.” 

" Well, I hope it will be pretty. My father has 
not promised me one, but I expect I shall have 
one. He gives me all I want.” 

“ My father gives me what he thinks best for 
me,” I said, “ and I am satisfied.” 

“ Well said,” cried Gottfried. " I did not 
know thou hadst so much spirit, little one.” 

“ Come, Margaretta, let us go. I suppose 
thou must show thy Berlin clothes to our 
friends of Wittenberg. I am on duty now, 
Gottfried, but if thou wilt come to our garden 
about eight this evening we shall try to have 


Down by the Elbe. 61 

a little sensible conversation,” said Georg, 
rising to go. 

“All right,” replied Gottfried. “ Hast thou 
translated that exercise from Greek to Latin 
for to-morrow ? I find it hard.” 

“Yes, I have done it. If thou wishest some 
help I can aid thee to-morrow morning at six, 
if thou wilt come to my room.” 

“ Very well. I’ll be there.” 

Gottfried and Georg were students at the 
Wittenberg Gymnasium, and were in the same 
class. While Gottfried made a good record 
he was a little too fond of out-of-door sports to 
be very successful in his studies. Georg led 
the class. They were obliged to be up and 
out very early in the morning, for at seven 
o’clock recitations began. 

“Auf wiedersehen, Gottfried; auf wieder- 
sehen, Anna,” said Margaretta, as she swept 
down the steps. “We would be glad to have 
you go with us. It is a beautiful day.” 

“Thank you, I do not care to go, unless 
Anna wishes to,” said Gottfried, turning to me. 

“ No, indeed, Gottfried,” I replied, “ I do 
not want to go out into the dust and crowd. 
It is so much pleasanter here.” 

“ Thou hast good sense,” muttered Georg, 
as he slowly followed his sister. 


62 


Schwester Anna. 


We sat quietly watching the two as they 
went away through the winding path. Occa- 
sionally Margaretta stooped to pick up a corn 
blossom or a bit of yellow grain, and added 
them to the bunch at her waist. Then they 
passed out of sight and were merged into the 
vari-colored crowd of pedestrians. 

Across the plain we could see a big wind- 
mill lazily swinging its broad arms. Over our 
heads a bird, thinking from the silence that 
human enemies had all left the spot, broke out 
in joyous song. The Elbe rippled gently at 
the foot of the great willow tree. 

I had never liked Margaretta so little as that 
day. Mother must be right. She was not just 
the friend for me to have. 

Her parents were reputed to be wealthy. 
Herr Schmidt had come to Wittenberg as a 
stranger. They lived in a fine house, kept sev- 
eral servants, drove out in their own carriage 
with a beautiful team of horses to draw it ; but 
they were not greatly beloved by our citizens. 
Nevertheless, wealth gives power, and Herr 
Schmidt was first elected a member of our 
Town Council, and at the time when Margaretta 
came up into the willow tree her father was 
Burgomaster of Wittenberg. We children had 
played together and were always dear friends. 


Down by the Elbe. 


63 


but of late something had come between us. 
Margaretta was growing out of my reach. 
For some reason, after that Sunday, we were 
never the same to each other. We exchanged 
no more confidences. Although we called on 
each other, accompanying our mothers, who 
were aquaintances, though not intimate friends, 
we were very decorous and behaved in a dignified 
manner. Our childish love, and my reverential 
admiration for her as my elder and superior, 
were gone. 

Poor Margaretta! Where can she be now? 
We little thought that day in the old willow 
that our paths in life would separate as did the 
branches of that great swaying tree which 
moved in the summer’s breeze so high above us. 


64 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Anna and Gottfried* 

^ ^ IVI gone let us read a little, 

1 N Anna,” broke in Gottfried’s pleasant 
voice. “ It will be too late if we wait longer, 
and we shall lose all the afternoon. It is al- 
ready half past four.” 

Very well, I am ready, ” said I. “ Mother 
said I might stay until six o’clock, but I must 
surely go then.” 

I leaned back comfortably against the broad 
tree and looked at the Elbe and the ever- 
changing colors of the sky and grass as the sun 
moved lower and lower, watching the shadows 
cast by passing clouds, as they moved swiftly 
over the green fields. 

That day Gottfried was reading Goethe’s 
Letters from Italy, where he tells of his jour- 
ney through the picturesque Tyrol, of Venice, 
of Florence, and, finally, of Rome, where he 
was received with much respect. 

Shouldst thou like to travel, Anna?” que- 
ried Gottfried, as he stopped to take breath. 

I should not care much about it, unless my 
friends went too,” said I. “Shouldst thou, 
Gottfried?” 


Anna and Gottfried. 


65 


‘‘Yes, I should love to go out into the wide 
world. Wittenberg is a pleasant little town, 
and I love it because my father and mother and 
thou art here. But I want to go where there is 
life, where men feel a pressure to do great 
things.” 

“ My father says great things are within our- 
selves, Gottfried,” I said, timidly, for this phase 
of his character was a new one to me. “ He 
says if a man cannot do his duty in the place 
where God put him he will never accomplish 
much anywhere.” 

“Thy father is doubtless right, Annachen, 
but if all men had been like him where would 
the world be to-day? No new worlds would 
have been discovered, no new investigations 
undertaken. What thinkest thou of that?” 

“ I do not know, Gottfried. Thou knowest 
I am not so wise as thou. Thou art a man, or 
soon will be, and I am only a girl who — ” 

“ Yes,” laughed he. “ ‘ Only a girl ! ’ But I 
could make the pastor open his eyes, or aston- 
ish even thy father, did I tell them that thou 
art as fully advanced as I am. The hours spent 
in this willow tree have not been for nothing. 
And now, to get out of saying that thou agreest 
with me, thou fallest back on the old idea that 

thou art a girl. It is too late for that, Anna. 

5 


66 


Schwester Anna. 


Thou hast as good a head as mine, and better 
judgment.” 

I suppose all young persons look at things 
in a different light from old ones. That bust- 
ling outside world does look enticing, but I sup- 
pose we are better off here. I wonder why 
it is,” I added, “that everything has combined 
to-day to make me see that we are growing up. 
First, mother said so ; then Margaretta seemed 
to me quite a young lady, and now thou talk- 
est like a man. It will not be long before thou, 
too, wilt go away and leave me behind.” 

“ Come ! throw a pebble into the water, 
Anna, to revive thy drooping spirits. See ! 
just under this limb there is a little fish taking 
a nice, quiet doze. Try to see if thou canst 
arouse him.” 

Gottfried drew from his pocket the stock of 
pebbles which he had brought for my amuse- 
ment. To please him I threw one in near the 
fish, who moved instantly and went slowly away 
to find a safer place to slumber. 

“ I suppose it will not be so very long before 
I shall leave Wittenberg, Anna. This year is 
my last at the stupid old gymnasium. After 
next Easter, provided I can pass my examina- 
tion, I shall be off for Heidelberg. Then good- 
bye lessons at seven in the morning and digging 


Anna and Gottfried. 67 

and delving until eleven at night. I shall be 
free to do as I please.” 

“ And good-bye to the lessons in the old wil- 
low tree,” I said, softly. 

“ That is the only thing I shall be sorry for, 
Annachen. How thy father would look if 1 
were to tell him that thou, even though thou art 
three years younger than I am, art even with 
me in thy studies ! I wish he could hear thee 
talk Latin ; ” and Gottfried chuckled at the 
thought. 

“ Thou must never tell him,” I cried, hastily, 
“for though my father loves me dearly he thinks 
girls have their own work to do, and does not 
believe in the new ideas of education for 
women.” 

Years before, when we children first began to 
go to school, Gottfried and I commenced 
studying together in the old willow. After 
school hours we brought our books there. He 
helped me over the difficult parts in the les- 
sons, and occasionally there were places where 
I could assist him. As he entered the gymna- 
sium when he was twelve years old we kept 
up this plan of study, and, as I was never very 
strong and was allowed to take light work at 
school, the teacher taking more pains with my 
needlework than with anything else, I had 


68 


Schwester Anna. 


plenty of time for study with Gottfried. My 
mother, who sympathized with me, knew of 
it, but had thought it no harm to keep it from 
father, as she knew Gottfried must soon go 
away, and that would be the end of it. Step 
by step we had gone along together, until, as 
he had said, I was really as well prepared to 
enter a higher school as he was. 

“Never mind,'’ said Gottfried, “ it will not 
be many years before there will be gymnasiums 
and universities for girls as well as boys. I can- 
not see why there should not be.” 

“ What time is it, Gottfried ? ” 

“ Just a quarter before six.” 

“ Then I must start for home. Mother will 
not like it if I am late.” 

“ I will go with thee, Anna. Wait a min- 
ute, till I get my hat.” 

He climbed the tree like a squirrel and 
reached out for his hat, which he had carefully 
placed on the extreme end of a limb, just 
where it was in great danger of falling into the 
water. 

“ Why didst thou put thy hat in such a dan- 
gerous place, Gottfried ? It might have fallen 
into the water.” 

“Yes, it might have; but it did not. I 
wanted to see how near it would come to it. 


Anna and Gottfried. 


69 


Even if it had been lost my mother would not 
have scolded.” 

I agreed with him in this, for never had Frau 
Herrmann been known to find fault with her 
handsome son. No matter what scrape he was 
in he was sure of his mother’s sympathy. She 
was a proud, cold woman to other people, and 
was said to be very severe with her younger 
children, but Gottfried was her idol. 

Ten years before Professor Herrmann had 
come to Wittenberg to teach Latin in our 
gymnasium. He was himself a doctor of Hei- 
delberg University, and was extremely anxious 
that his son should go there and win high hon- 
ors. The neighbors were doubtful as to the 
character of the honors Gottfried would ac- 
quire — whether they would be in his studies or 
in regular attendance at the meetings of his 
society — but his mother had no doubt at all on 
this subject. 

The Plerrmanns lived in a handsome stone 
home, very near my father’s, and our gardens 
joined each other, being separated only by a 
low hedge. Shortly after they moved to our 
quiet village I was playing in the sand one 
morning, out in our garden. Soon I heard 
some one call : “ Little girl ! little girl ! may I 
come over and play with thee ? ” 


70 


Schwester Anna. 


Surely,” I answered ; “ but who art thou ? 
I cannot see thee.” 

“ Wait a minute, and I will come,” said the 
voice. “ I know where there is a hole in the 
hedge.” 

In a moment I heard the noise of running 
feet, and, looking up, saw before me a small 
boy about eight years old. He wore a long 
oilcloth apron which his thrifty mother had put 
on to save his good clothes, and he had a small 
cap stuck on the back of his head. 

“ Come,” he said, with a touch of scorn, “ I 
can dig a better fortress than that ! ” 

“ Who art thou ? ” I asked. 

My name is Gottfried, and thou art Anna. 
I know because thy father came to see mine 
last evening, and he said he lived here and had 
a little girl named Anna.” 

Thus our acquaintance began. Gottfried said, 
some time afterward, that I, too, wore an oil- 
cloth apron on that eventful morning, and had 
on a pink sunbonnet, below which hung two 
yellow pigtails. 

We played in the sunshine all the morning 
and all the afternoon, and from that day were 
close friends. No boy comrade could entice 
Gottfried from my side, and no amount of 
teasing could make him forsake me. 


Anna and Gottfried. 


71 


When we went toward home from the river 
that Sunday afternoon the people were still 
going off toward the country. The streets of 
the town were quite deserted. It was at the 
garden gate that we separated. I went in to 
help my mother prepare the supper, for Gret- 
chen had gone home to visit her sick father 
that afternoon. 

How distinctly I remember that evening ! 
The long twilight gave a pleasant, soft hue to 
the sky as we sat in the garden eating our sup- 
per. It was so mild that mother said that fa- 
ther would not feel even a twinge of rheuma- 
tism if we ate in the garden, and I might set 
the table out there. On Sunday night, being 
a festival, we always used the fine old china 
which my mother’s mother, and her mother 
before her, had owned. I carried it very 
quietly and carefully. How sad it would be if 
even one piece were nicked ! The plates and 
cups had little pink roses on them, and were 
very thin and delicate. 

I remember how we sat there a long time, 
eating our Sunday “ kuchen ” and drinking 
fragrant tea from our dainty cups. The twi- 
light gradually merged into the darkness. I 
brought out a lamp and set it on the table in 
the summer house. My father asked me to 


72 


Schwester Anna. 


bring his violin, which he carefully tuned. 
Then, playing a soft accompaniment, he com- 
menced singing in a clear tenor voice the old 
hymn beloved by us Germans, and sung, so 
they say, in many strange lands and languages : 

“ Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott, 

Ein’ gute Wehr und Waffen.” 

My mother joined in with a sweet soprano, and 
the music rose and fell harmoniously. 

It was thus,” said my father, when we had 
finished, that Dr. Martin Luther used to sing 
over in the old gray monastery. He played 
very sweetly on the lute, and the family were 
all fond of singing. It is said that Dr. Me- 
lanchthon and a number of friends used to go 
to the living room of the Luthers on many a 
Sunday night to sing the beautiful hymns 
which the great reformer had written.” 

“ Did he compose the music too, father ? ” 
I asked. 

Yes ; to many of his hymns he wrote also 
the music. Now, mother, let us have thy 
song.” 

Tuning up again, he played a rippling mel- 
ody, while mother, in the clear voice which 
seemed to have in it the sweetness of the tin- 
kling bells of her native land, sang a Swiss 


Anna and Gottfried. 


73 


song with a joyful Yodel.” My mother was 
born in Switzerland, but after the death of her 
parents, when she was twelve years old, was 
brought to Wittenberg by an aunt, who adopted 
her as her daughter. Notwithstanding the fact 
that she had lived so long in the North she 
never liked the flat, uninteresting country, but 
always longed for her own land, with its beau- 
tiful lakes and snow-capped mountains. 

Thou art merry to-night, neighbor,” called 
Professor Herrmann from the other side of the 
hedge. 

“ Yes. We are singing the old songs,” an- 
swered my father. “ Canst thou not come over ? ” 

“ No, not to-night. I should like to speak 
with thee about the proof of my new book, if 
thou hast time.” 

“ I will come now,” said father, and went 
away to walk up and down with our neighbor. 

** Let us clear up these things, Anna ; run 
and light ^ candle.” I went at my mother’s 
bidding, and we piled the precious dishes on a 
tray, carrying them into the stone-floored 
kitchen. There we washed them in clean hot 
water, and, after carefully drying them on the 
sweet-smelling towels which my mother kept 
specially for this old china, we set them away 
in the closet in the best room. 


74 


Schwester Anna. 


I seem to have the details of that Sunday 
indelibly impressed upon my mind. It was 
one of the milestones in my life. I suppose 
everyone has experienced the same feeling. I 
passed after that day into the realm of woman- 
hood. I was no longer a child. My mind as 
well as my body changed and developed. I 
looked at things with different eyes. My 
mother was right ; I was growing to be a 
woman. 


Home Life. 


75 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Home Life. 

I MUST not dwell too long on this happy 
period. One cannot always be sixteen, and 
the bright dreams of youth fade away as time 
goes on. 

The summer flew by as on golden wings. 
Gottfried and I sat sometimes in the old wil- 
low tree, but not so often as we had been ac- 
customed to do. As I grew older there was 
more work for me at home. My mother said 
that I must be a womanly woman, and that my 
knowledge of Latin would count for nothing 
if I could not darn my father’s socks neatly or 
cook the dainty dishes of which he was so 
fond. So mother and Gretchen and I worked 
happily in the cool kitchen in the summer morn- 
ings when the birds were singing blithely out 
on the linden branches as they swayed back 
and forth before the open windows. There 
were days when I longed very much to get out 
in the air and sunshine, to take a run down by 
the river bank or through the green fields. 
Sometimes I complained a little, and the dear, 
loving mother would come and lay her hand 
on my shoulder, saying softly : “ My darling^ 


76 


Schwester Anna. 


thou art learning to be a woman. Thou must 
learn, too, that our life in this world is not one 
of ease and comfort, but of self-sacrifice and 
endurance. The dear Lord has placed us here 
to do our duty, not to satisfy ourselves. It is 
only by loving God and serving him, even in 
our homely duties, that we can attain the life 
eternal. The true rule of life is forgetfulness 
of self.’’ 

“ But, mother, it is hard to be a woman. I 
do not want to be. I would rather be a child, 
and have thee always to help me and cheer 
me.” 

‘‘Thou canst not, my daughter. Time flies, 
and thou must do thine own work in the 
world and must learn to be self-reliant. Mother 
cannot always be with thee.” With a loving 
kiss she went away. 

How often I have thought of her words that 
morning in the cool, shaded kitchen. My hands 
were deep in the soft dough which would be light, 
flaky tea cakes to eat with our cup of coffee 
that afternoon. “ The true rule of life is for- 
getfulness of self.” This has been and must be 
my motto through life ; but how hard it is for us 
poor human beings to lay down our weak 
selves and lose ourselves in God and his work ! 
This is what my mother did in those days, and 


Home Life. 


77 


it is what she is doing now, as she sits alone in 
the old home and goes through her round 
of daily duties in the same cheerful manner, 
contented and happy to have her only child 
far away from her, knowing that it is God’s 
will. But none of us knew what the future 
held for us in those old, quiet days. 

After the morning’s work had been done, 
the hardwood floors carefully wiped with a 
damp cloth, the thick rugs thoroughly beaten 
and cleaned, the beds made up neatly with the 
fine linen sheets which mother kept in an old 
cedar chest out in the hall, and the feather beds 
which covered us shaken until they were light 
and downy, we were ready for our dinner. On 
warm days we always ate out in the little arbor 
where the honeysuckle blossoms which covered 
it gave out a delicate perfume and the birds 
and insects provided our music. I used to 
think that our kaiser and his family could not 
be half so happy in their great palace as we 
were in our pleasant garden. 

In the afternoon mother and I brought our 
workbaskets outdoors and mended all the gar- 
ments which had been torn in the washing. The 
tablecloths were darned to a thread, until the 
tear could scarcely be seen. New patches were 
put on the sheets and pillowcases, for my 


78 


Sch wester Anna. 


mother was a thrifty housewife. My father 
often said that he would have been a poor man if 
it had not been for his good “ hausfrau.” 

“ If thou layest on a patch, my daughter,” 
said my mother, “ always put it perfectly 
straight. It is as easy to do it well as poorly, 
after a few trials.” She trained me in all sorts- 
of handiwork as the winter went by, and before 
I scarcely knew it spring had come again and 
the willows were budding down by the Elbe. 

Then came a busy season. Easter was near 
at hand, and every German housekeeper knows 
that before the festival time comes everything 
in the home must be thoroughly cleaned. We 
went to work heartily. The long white cur- 
tains which hung at our windows were taken 
down and sent out to be “ done up.” The 
meadows along the river were white with the 
quantities of linen and laces which the washer- 
women were spreading out to bleach in the 
bright spring sunshine. 

Our silver must be well cleaned, and mother 
and I set at it one afternoon, carrying all of it 
out to our large garden table, where we could 
enjoy the fresh air while working. There was 
the old silver tankard from which my grand- 
father had drank beer all his life, there was the 
richly chased coffeepot, brought by my mother 


Home Life. 


79 


with her household furnishings ; there were the 
spoons and forks, already worn so thin with the 
usage of three hundred years that we were 
obliged to lay them away, and use ordinarily 
the new ones which father had bought a few 
years before. On the Easter festival we always 
brought out these old ones, to which there 
were very interesting stories attached. 

When we were right in the midst of our 
work that sunny day, and I was sitting with 
my long brown apron on, and my sleeves rolled 
up to my elbows, I heard footsteps coming down 
the gravel walk and a deep voice called, “ Anna, 
where art thou ? ” 

My heart gave a joyous leap. It was a long 
time since Gottfried and I had had much oppor- 
tunity to talk. He had been busy with his 
studies, as this was his last year at the gymna- 
sium, and it had seemed to me that his mother 
prevented his coming sometimes. He said to 
me when we occasionally met that he had of- 
ten thought of coming, but his mother al- 
ways wanted him to go out with her. I did 
not wonder at it as I looked up at him. He 
had grown and developed this past year. He 
was tall and manly looking ; his eyes were blue 
and frank in their expression, and his head was 
crowned with short golden curls. 


80 


Schwester Anna. 


He smiled pleasantly at me as I sat at work 
vigorously rubbing the old tankard which had 
grown quite brown since the last time we 
used it. 

“ Thou art indeed a true housewife, Anna. 
I heard from Margaretta that thou wast grown 
quite a woman.” 

“ When didst thou see Margaretta ? ” I asked, 
quickly, for it was a long while since I had seen 
him, and it made me feel a little badly to think 
that he had had time to talk with her. 

I saw her at our house last week. The 
mother is very fond of her and would have her 
over for coffee, and we had quite a talk. Thou 
knowest she has been away visiting and has 
come home a very fine young lady.’' 

So I heard. Father said she would never 
do for our plain, quiet Wittenberg.” 

“ She is different from our Wittenberg girls, 
that is true, but she is certainly going to be a 
very handsome woman.” 

She always was a pretty girl, I thought,” 
said I. 

Canst thou not come for a walk, Anna? 
It is such a beautiful day.” 

I am busy, Gottfried. And besides, per- 
haps thou hast not time.” 

Yes, I have plenty of time. I ran away to- 


Home Life. 


81 


day. It is so long since I saw thee that I quite 
longed for a good, old-fashioned talk,” he gaid. 

“ Ran away ! Gottfried, what dost thou 
mean ? ” 

Why, I heard my mother say that Mar- 
garetta would drink coffee with us again to- 
day, and I knew I should be wanted to wait 
on the young lady. So I just picked up my 
hat when the mother’s back was turned, and 
ran.” 

I could not help smiling, and my heart grew 
lighter. 

“There! Now that the dimples appear in 
thy cheeks, I know my Anna again. Thou 
wast such a woman that I was almost afraid of 
thy dignity. Run quickly and ask the little 
mother.” 

“What dost thou wish, Gottfried? It is a 
long time since we have seen thee, my boy,” 
said mother’s voice close by us. 

“Yes, it is, Stiefmiitterchen, but I could not 
help it. I want you to let Anna come for a 
walk. She has worked hard all winter and 
needs the sun and air. Her cheeks are not so 
rosy as they were.” 

“ Very well, she may go. But not for long.” 

“ But the silver, mother ? ” I began. 

“ I will do it, daughter. I have nothing else 
6 


82 


Sch wester Anna. 


to do.” So, with a kiss, I ran to get my hat, 
and Gottfried and I went down the walk to- 
gether. 

Hide behind this big tree, quick ! ” ex- 
claimed he. “ There comes Margaretta ! ” 

Laughingly we waited until the young lady 
passed by. She was very showily dressed in 
the latest fashion and wore a good deal of 
jewelry. Since that Sunday when we talked 
in the willow tree I had scarcely spoken to 
Margaretta. She was friendly enough when 
we met, but her condescending manner of say- 
ing, “ How dost thou do, little one?” rather 
roused my indignation when I remembered how 
we played together as children, and I preferred 
to have little to do with her. 

Now that she has gone, let us hurry down 
by the river. It will hardly be safe to sit in 
the tree, for she may come after us. Let us 
go across to Brenheim, and then we can have 
a nice walk as well as talk. Thou dost not 
look very well, Anna. Hast thou been work- 
ing too hard ? ” 

“ No, Gottfried ; but, of course, I have been 
in the house a good deal.” 

“Just think! we have not had a single 
lesson together this whole year. I fear I must 
leave thee behind me,” said Gottfried. 


Home Life, 


83 


“ Perhaps it ,is as well, Gottfried. I must 
learn to do woman’s work now, and help my 
mother.” 

The narrow path wound around through the 
fields. It was early yet, but the grass was 
green and bright, and yellow dandelions 
studded it here and there. Tiny beds of let- 
tuce were fenced off in different places by low 
hedges, and the “ salat ” was heading up finely. 
One garden had cherry trees just coming into 
bloom. In another were at least fifteen women, 
moving along on their knees by the rows of 
asparagus, cutting those stalks which were 
sufficiently blanched to send to-morrow morn- 
ing to the market in the open square by our 
townhall. Brenheim, with its clustered group 
of red-tiled houses, lay before us. We turned 
to the left of the village, and, crossing another 
field, sat down on an old, dry log under a 
broad-spreading chestnut tree. Occasionally 
the peasants, men and women, passed us, bear- 
ing on their heads great bunches of dry branches 
which had been trimmed from the trees to 
make room for new growth. 

“ I want to see thee very much, Anna, for 
soon my examinations will be over, and then I 
aln going away, after the spring vacation.” 

“ Art thou sure of passing ? ” I asked. 


84 


Schwester Anna. 


“Yes, quite sure. Professor Schumacher 
assures me that there will be no trouble, and 
preparations are already being made for my 
departure for Heidelberg.” 

“ Wittenberg will be lonely without thee, 
Gottfried,” I said. “ I shall miss thee greatly.” 

“ I am glad, Anna. I shall miss thee too. 
See ! I have bought thee a little remembrance. 
It is all my own, for I bought it with my own 
money, saved from my allowance.’ ’ He opened 
a box and showed me a neat little ring with 
one blue stone — a turquoise — and two milky 
pearls, one on each side of it. 

“ It is beautiful, Gottfried ; so beautiful that 
r fear the mother will not let me keep it.” 

“Yes, she will, for I asked her when thou 
wast gone to get thy hat. I showed it to her. 
She said I might give it to thee in remembrance 
of the years we played together,” replied Gott- 
fried. 

“ Thou wilt not go away at once, Gottfried ? ” 

“No, Anna; but there are so many things 
to do and so many things to prevent my com- 
ing to thee that I feared there might be no 
other opportunity. Besides, I had bought it, 
and I was in a hurry to see it on thy hand.” 

He put it on my finger jand held my hand 
up, that he might look at it. 


Home Life. 


85 


“ Yes, they are fitted for each other, the 
hand and the ring. Thou wilt not forget me 
now, Anna, nor the days when we played to- 
gether. Thou hast a reminder here on thy 
hand,” added Gottfried. 

“ I shall never forget thee,” I said, tearfully. 
I had said truly, ht would be lonely in Wit- 
tenberg when he was gone. 

“ Anna, when I am away off there at Heidel- 
berg I shall think of my girl comrade, and try 
to act so that thou wilt not be ashamed of me. 
But I fear it will be hard. It is not so easy for 
men to be good as it is for women. And I 
shall soon be a man.” He drew himself up 
proudly. 

“Thou lookest like a man already to me, 
Gottfried, and I shall be very proud of thee, I 
know. What dost thou intend to do — as a 
profession, I mean ? ” 

“ I want to be a lawyer. My father ap- 
proves, and I shall enter upon the course in 
jurisprudence. I will try to do my best, but I 
fear I am too fond of fun. I wish thou couldst 
be near to keep me steady, Anna.” 

“ I cannot, Gottfried. Mother said one day 
that I must now learn to be a woman and de- 
pend upon myself. . I suppose men must do 
the same. But it is harder for thee than for 


86 


Schwester Anna. 


me, Gottfried, for thou goest among strangers, 
and I have the shelter of my own dear home.” 

We talked on in this way until the shadows 
deepened and the cool breeze warned us to 
start on our homeward journey. He told me 
of his aspirations, of his fears, and I cheered 
him as well as I could. 

As I was getting ready for bed that night 
my mother came into the room. She kissed 
me, and noticing the new ring upon my finger, 
said : “ I think thou art proud of thy gift, Anna. 
It was very kind of Gottfried to remember thee 
thus. But, my child, thou must remember 
that Gottfried’s boyhood days are now over. 
Soon he will go out into the world and will 
make new friends, some of whom will be as 
dear, and perhaps dearer than those he has left 
behind. Keep thy little ring and think of the 
days when thou and thy friend played together, 
but build not on the future. God makes our 
future, and our wishes are not always his way.” 

“ Gottfried will surely never forget me, 
mother.” 

No, he will not forget, but his life will 
broaden and widen, and a man has many 
things to enter into his life. I would not have 
thee think too much of Gottfried, my daughter. 
His path and thine will diverge from now on. 


Home Life. 87 

Find thy happiness in duty.” So she left 
me. 

Would Gottfried forget his playmate? I did 
not believe it. He was true and brave. At 
any rate, one thing was certain, I should never 
forget him. I tucked the hand on which the 
turquoise ring shone up under my cheek and 
went quietly to sleep. 

Easter passed joyously. The weather was 
bright and beautiful. Flowers bloomed in the 
fields and the trees put forth their first pale- 
green leaves ; the cherry trees were full of 
white blossoms and looked like huge bouquets. 
When the petals commenced to fall in a fra- 
grant white shower, and the apple trees began 
to show rosy blossoms, Gottfried went away. 

After the walk out to Brenheim and our long 
talk I had not seen him, except at a distance. 
Early one morning, as I was trimming my rose- 
bushes, I heard him call, “ Anna ! ” and, turn- 
ing, saw him jumping the low hedge between 
the gardens. He was so tall that he did not 
need to creep through the hole which he had 
made years before. 

“ I am off, Anna,” he exclaimed. 

“ Off! so soon ? ” 

“Yes. My train leaves in an hour. I have 
found a moment to come to see thee.” 


88 


Schwester Anna. 


I could not speak. * My heart was too full. 

“ I shall not forget thee. Wilt thou remem- 
ber me ? And wilt thou say a little prayer for 
me once in a while, my Anna ? I think thy 
prayers would be heard,” he whispered. 

“ I will gladly do so, Gottfried, and I will 
never forget thee.” 

“ Auf wiedersehen, Annachen. My mother 
is calling me.” 

I could hear her voice calling, “ Gottfried ! 
Gottfried ! it is time to go ; ” but I could not 
speak. 

“ Wilt thou not say ^ Adieu ? ’ ” he said. 

It must be done. 

“Adieu, Gottfried. Auf wiedersehen.” 

We shook hands quietly and he leaped over 
the hedge again. He laughed and nodded to 
me as he ran away. 

“ Gottfried ! ” I called. “ Come back a 
moment.” I felt so sorry, but had said so 
little. He would think me cold, when my 
young heart ached sadly. 

It was too late ; he was gone. I could hear 
the carriage wheels as they rolled swiftly 
away. 


Off for Berlin. 


89 


CHAPTER IX. 

Off for Berlin. 

I HAD expected that the time would pass 
slowly after Gottfried went away to Heidel- 
berg, but to my surprise the months rolled by 
very quickly. In the vacations I saw my old 
playmate occasionally, but I began to feel 
quite shy with him, he seemed so manly and so 
much older than I. The second summer after 
he entered the university he brought home a 
big mastiff, of whom I was very much afraid, 
although he was said to be perfectly gentle. 
Herr Herrmann had to build a large kennel out 
in the garden for this new member of the 
family. The professor considered Hugo, who 
was the dog, rather superfluous, but Gottfried’s 
mother was delighted with him. At night I 
could hear him growl and bark at the passers- 
by as he lay in front of his house. 

About this time, too, Gottfried was seen 
walking up and down in the Herrmanns’ garden 
smoking a long, black pipe, almost an exact 
counterpart of the one his father had. The 
next time he came home I scarcely recognized 
him. His face was covered with a silky, golden- 
brown beard. 


90 


Schwester Anna. 


“ I think Gottfried is going to be a fine-look- 
ing young man,” said my father, one day, at 
dinner. “ But from all accounts I fear he is a 
wild boy.” 

“ Dost thou hear much of him, father ? ” 
asked the mother. 

“ No ; only what neighbor Schmidt said the 
other day. He has relatives in Heidelberg, 
and they report that Gottfried attends more 
diligently to the nightly meetings of his ‘ corps ’ 
than he does to the lectures of the professors.” 

“Hast thou seen him lately, Anna?” said 
mother, turning to me. 

“Yes, mother. I met him on the street the 
other day, but he did not seem like the same 
Gottfried. He called me ‘ Fraiilein Anna,’ 
and said ‘ you ’ instead of ‘ thou.’ ” 

“And what didst thou call him, Anna?” 
asked father, smiling. 

“ I called him nothing ; but, of course, fol- 
lowed his example and used ‘ you ’ in speak- 
ing. 

“ I noticed that he walks a good deal with 
Margaretta Schmidt,” said father. “ I imagine 
that Frau Herrmann would be pleased with that 
alliance. Herr Schmidt has plenty of thalers 
for his daughter’s dowry.” 

“ Margaretta is often at the Herrmanns’ and 


Off for Berlin. 


91 


is a great favorite with the mother. But I 
scarcely have imagined that Gottfried would 
be charmed by her loud ways.” 

“ Ach ! mother. Boys will be boys, and 
Margaretta is handsome and well dressed, and 
has plenty of money. Those are great induce- 
ments.” Father went away, laughing, to his 
business. 

I saw my mother look up at me quickly as 
I went out and mounted the winding staircase 
to go to my room. I was thankful to her that 
she did not speak to me. Mothers always 
seem to understand their daughters intuitively 
— at least good mothers, like mine. Perhaps 
her heart ached too when she was eighteen. 

I went into my room and closed the door. 
Standing by the window I saw, far down the 
yellow road, two figures. They were Gottfried 
and Margaretta. He leaned toward her as he 
talked, and she glanced up at him coquettishly. 
The big mastiff walked in a stately manner on 
the other side of .Gottfried, whose hand was on 
his head. They were coming up to Professor 
Herrmann’s front gate ; now they entered it 
and went through the pretty garden, around 
the side of the house to a large, open space 
which had been laid out as a lawn tennis court. 
This was a new game, just brought over from 


92 


Schwester Anna. 


England. Margaretta had learned to play it, 
and she and Gottfried were out there nearly 
every day during the vacation. 

Margaretta looked very pretty, I could see, as 
I peeped out from behind my Swiss muslin cur- 
tains. She wore a dainty white gown, trimmed 
with soft lace and flowing crimson ribbons. At 
her waist and throat were clusters of fuchsias, 
drooping gracefully. Her broad-brimmed, lace- 
covered hat was caught up on one side, showing 
a bunch of crimson roses. She was certainly a 
handsome girl — almost a woman — and it was 
no wonder that Gottfried liked her. 

I went and stood in front of my round mirror, 
with its carved mahogany frame. Yes, I was 
nothing but a plain little country girl beside 
Margaretta. I saw only a rosy-cheeked, blue- 
eyed maiden, with light hair combed down, as 
smoothly as the curls would allow, on each 
side of a low forehead. I braided my hair 
now, and twisted it back and forth across my 
head. My dress was a rose-colored print, and 
at the neck it was fastened with an ivory edel- 
weiss pin which my mother had worn when she 
was my age. It was not surprising that Gottfried 
did not want me, now that he had seen some- 
thing of the world. Mother had said that it 
would be so. But O, how hard it was to 


Off for Berlin. 


93 


be forgotten and not to be missed ! I looked 
down at the little turquoise ring which I always 
wore. I had not forgotten my friend, even if 
he had forgotten me. 

Just then I remembered that that day when 
I met Gottfried on the street he had held my 
hand just for a moment, looking down at the 
gold band. Perhaps he had not forgotten after 
all. I had prayed daily for him, as he had 
asked me to do, and I could, at least, continue to 
do that. So I knelt down by my bed and asked 
the dear Lord to bless Gottfried and make him 
good, to care for and protect him and lead him 
in the right way. Then I added a petition for 
myself, that our Father would make me unself- 
ish, that I might love others rather than my- 
self. My heart felt light again, and I looked 
out with interest at the game of tennis. 

When I went down stairs I found mother in 
the vine-covered arbor, busy with her mending. 
She looked up with a pleasant smile as I came 
out with my workbasket. 

“Ach! Liebling, thou lookest much fresher 
for thy rest. I thought that thou wast very 
weary at dinner.” 

“ I am all right, mother, dear,” I answered, 
cheerfully. 

As we settled down to our sewing the mother 


94 


Schwester Anna. 


said: “My child, thou art now eighteen, and 
it seems to me time that thou shouldst go away 
from our quiet Wittenberg. Young birds must 
leave the home nest some time, although it is 
hard for the parent birds to have them do so,” 
she added, with a sigh. 

“ I do not care to go away, mother. I am 
very happy here in our quiet home, and with 
thee and father.” 

“ I know, dearie ; but it is part of the educa- 
tion which we owe thee that thou shouldst see 
other cities and other people. It takes all 
kinds to make up the world. Thou must learn 
to know all sorts of persons if thou wilt do thy 
duty by others. Circumstances change the 
.disposition very often, and in order to help our 
friends and neighbors we must know something 
of their surroundings and temptations.” 

“Where must I go?” 

“ Thou knowest thy Cousin Bertha, who has 
visited us here occasionally? She is a lovely 
girl, notwithstanding the fact that the family, 
through thy Aunt Katharina’s influence, have 
become somewhat loose in their religious 
views.” 

“I know, mother. I heard father say that 
they are no longer Lutherans, but have joined 
the sect of Methodists.” 


Off for Berlin, 


95 


“Yes, but nevertheless thy aunt is a good 
woman, one of the best I ever knew. There 
must be something good in these dissenters, 
even though they have forsaken the old Estab- 
lished Church. Thy uncle has written, inviting 
thee to come to Berlin for a visit — for the win- 
ter, in fact.” 

“ What could I do there so long, mother ? I 
should be so homesick for thee and father. 
Why may I not go for a short visit ? ” I cried, 
sadly, for a separation from home meant a great 
deal to me. 

“ It is our intention to have thee take lessons 
with Bertha in French, English, and music. 
She has excellent teachers in these branches, 
and it will be a great advantage to thee.” 

“ It would be very nice to learn these things, 
but I should hate to leave thee.” 

“ Such things must come, Anna, and thou 
must live thine own life. Thou hast an excel- 
lent education thus far, thanks to thy good 
teachers and also to Gottfried’s aid, and now 
thou must have a little more of the accom- 
plishments.” 

That evening, at supper, it was settled that I 
should go to Berlin the first of October — it was 
then the first of September — and should re- 
main, if nothing interfered, until the next June, 


96 


Schwester Anna. 


taking every possible opportunity to improve 
my mind. 

“ But thou must not forget thy housewifely 
arts, Annachen,” said the father. “ Nothing is 
more important for a young woman. Thou 
must have these accomplishments, but not so 
much of them that thou forgettest thy other 
work.” 

** ril try, father. I fear thou wilt miss my 
biscuits with thy coffee.” 

“ I shall miss thee sorely, my daughter,” 
said he, smoothing my hair as he used to do 
when I sat on the low stool at his feet long 
years before ; ‘‘ but it is right that thou 
shouldst go.” 

September was a busy month. The dress- 
maker came and made me several new dresses, 
handsomer ones than I had ever had before. 
I was quite surprised, but mother said : “ It is 
fitting that thou shouldst be properly dressed. 
Thy father is not a poor man, and it is expected 
of thee. Besides, thou art now a woman.” 

My dresses were made long, quite down to 
my feet, so that I felt very dignified indeed. 
One of them was a chocolate-colored silk, I 
remember, trimmed with some fine old lace 
yellow with age, which the mother drew from 
the chest where she kept her treasures. My 


Off for Berlin. 


97 


father wished to see all my new gowns when 
they were finished, and the night before leav- 
ing home I put on this dress. It was soft silk 
with a faint rustle, and was made very full in the 
skirt, had huge leg-o’-mutton sleeves, and was 
cut open at the neck, filled in with soft lace. I 
wore a bunch of pink asters in my bosom, and 
father was quite delighted. 

“ I never thought I should have so handsome 
a daughter !” he exclaimed. “She looks just 
as thou didst at her age, Martha,” turning with 
a courtly bow to greet my mother as she came 
in at the door. 

“ I have brought a guest with me,” said 
mother, smiling, and, as she moved aside, I saw 
the tall figure of my old friend Gottfried. The 
great mastiff came stalking in behind him. 

“ Lie there, Hugo ! ” he said, and the big 
dog stretched himself out quietly in front of the 
open fire. The night was a little cool, and 
there was a glowing stick of wood in the wide 
tiled fireplace. 

“ Good evening, Herr Lufft ! Good evening, 
Fraiilein Anna!” said Gottfried, in his rich, 
deep voice, shaking us cordially by the hand. 
“ It is a long time since I have seen you.” 

My mother pushed a comfortable chair up 

close to father, so that Gottfried might sit near 
7 


98 


Schwester Anna. 


him, and he threw himself into it. I sat down 
quietly and listened. How I trembled ! It 
seemed as if my face was on fire ; but Gottfried 
sat at his ease. Sometimes he looked laugh- 
ingly over at me as he told a college joke or 
some prank of his fellow-students. He and 
father talked a long time. He told us about 
his life in Heidelberg; how the students made 
the people crazy with their noise ; how they 
went up and explored the old castle which stands 
so deserted, a mere shadow of past glory. It was 
very interesting, and I soon lost my timidity 
before this tall man with his thick, silky beard, 
and entered into the conversation just as I used 
to do. 

“You know that Georg Schmidt is at Heidel- 
berg too,” said Gottfried. “ He is studying 
medicine, and is going to make a splendid 
physician. He is such a good, steady fellow. 
I am afraid he learns more than I do,” he 
added, with an odd grimace. 

“He is the best of the family,” said father, 
meditatively, blowing a great puff of smoke 
artistically in circles around his head. 

“Yes, he is. But I don’t believe his parents 
half appreciate him. Well, I must go. It is 
getting late. Come, Hugo ! No, Fraiilein 
Anna, you need not fear, he is perfectly gen- 


Off for Berlin. 


99 


tie.” He had seen me move backward as the 
big animal came near. 

I will introduce thee, Hugo. ThisisFraii- 
lein Anna Lufft, my old playmate and com- 
rade” — (he had not forgotten entirely, then) — ' 
“ who is grown so fine and womanly that she 
has forgotten the hours we passed in the old 
willow years ago.” He had drawn near to me 
now, and spoke the last words in a low tone. 
The big dog rubbed his nose against me. 
“ Thou hast a new gown, Anna,” whispered 
Gottfried, in the same old tones of his boyhood. 
“ Thou hast forgotten thy playmate.” 

I looked up at him. 

“ It is you who have forgotten us, Herr 
Herrmann,” I said, quietly. 

“ Thinkest thou so, Anna ? Then thou 
thinkest wrongly. I see thou wearest my little 
ring. I never forgot thee.” He turned sharp- 
ly away, said “Guten Abend” to my father and 
mother, made me a polite bow after the latest 
fashion among Heidelberg students, and, call- 
ing his dog, passed out of the door. In a mo- 
ment I heard my mother returning from open- 
ing the door for him. 

“ Gottfried wishes to speak with thee a mo- 
ment, my daughter,” she said. “ Do not stay 
long. The air is cool.” 


100 


Schwester Anna. 


I found him waiting in the doorway for me. 

“Your mother says you are going away, 
Fraiilein Anna.” 

“Yes. lam going to Berlin for the winter 
to see the city and to study with my Cousin 
Bertha.” 

“ I hope you will have a delightful time,” he 
said, warmly. “ Berlin is a beautiful city.” 

“I expect I shall,” I replied, “and now I 
really must say ‘ Good-bye’ and close the door, 
for it is cool to-night.” 

“ Wait just a moment longer. It is so long 
since I have seen you. I have so many other 
things to do.” 

“Yes. I often see you play tennis with 
Margaretta.” 

“ My mother wishes it. Anna, mother would 
like me to marry Margaretta. She told me so 
to-day.” 

“ Will you not, then ? ” I asked, though my 
limbs shook under me. “ She is a beautiful 
woman.’’ 

“ I shall never marry Margaretta,” he an- 
swered, quietly. “Anna, wilt thou give me a 
flower from thy dress ? ” 

I loosened it tremblingly. 

“Thou wilt wear my little ring until I come 
again ? ” 


Off for Berlin. 


101 


“Yes, Gottfried.” 

“ Adieu ! Auf wiedersehen ! ” and we had 
parted again. 

I went into the house with a happy heart. 
Gottfried had not forgotten me. He had some 
reason for not speaking or walking with me. 
And he had said he would not marry Marga- 
retta, even though his mother wished it. 
Whom, then, would he marry? He had not 
said that. 

“ Art thou cold, Anna ? ” asked my mother. 
“ Thy cheeks look flushed with the crisp air.” 

“ No, mother, I am quite warm.” 

We sat around the fire a long time that even- 
ing. We talked of days past and of days to 
come, and through all ran the strain of duty to 
God, duty to our fellow-men, and forgetfulness 
of self. One can never be too thankful for good 
home influences. They are the greatest bless- 
ings which God can give us. 

The next morning I left for Berlin. Many 
kisses were exchanged, some tears were shed, 
and warm greetings were sent to the dear ones 
in the neighboring city. 

The train moved rapidly through the flat 
country. Flocks of geese, cared for by a 
brightly dressed goose girl, flapped their wings 
wildly as the locomotive gave a shrill whistle. 


102 


Sch wester Anna. 


The cattle grazed in the green fields ; the sheep 
pastured in the rocky meadows; here and there 
was a lonely farmhouse or an isolated black and 
gray windmill. Then the train entered the 
city ; we reached the station with its bustle and 
confusion ; Bertha’s arms were around my neck. 
I was in Berlin, and a new era in life had been 
opened before me. 


Among the Methodists. 


103 


CHAPTER X. 

Among the Methodists* 

M y uncle, Josef Lufft, had lived in Berlin a 
good many years. He was a silversmith 
by trade, and made some very beautiful pieces of 
silverware. In fact, the kaiser himself had con- 
descended to purchase of him some articles for 
the royal household, thus enabling my uncle to 
put on his sign, “ Silversmith to His Majesty 
William I,” which, naturally, brought him a 
good deal more trade than if he had been sil- 
versmith to ordinary people only. 

The family lived in a pleasant apartment 
over the store on the Leipzigerstrasse. We peo- 
ple of Wittenberg, who possessed any means, 
were accustomed to occupy an entire house, so 
that it seemed a little strange to me to be shut 
up in eight or nine rooms all on one floor, and 
to know that a family lived above us and still an- 
other above them, while below us business was 
going on. Then, too, the bustle and noise of the 
busy street were new to me. The first few nights 
I could scarcely sleep, but awoke frightened at 
the unaccustomed sounds outside my window. 
At one of the windows there was a small bal- 
cony, and I found it very interesting to go out 


104 


Schwester Anna. 


there and look down upon the restless, moving 
throng in the street. Men, women, and chil- 
dren jostled one another on the pavement. In 
the middle of the street omnibuses, carriages, 
drays, handcarts, and people were almost — as 
it seemed to my country eyes — inextricably 
mixed together. How collisions were avoided, 
and how persons escaped with their lives in that 
jumble seemed to me a miracle. 

My Aunt Katharina made me feel at home 
from the very first. I had never seen her before, 
but I felt, when she kissed me on my arrival from 
Wittenberg, that I should find her a second 
mother. So ‘she was to me, the dear, good 
woman, a true guide and counselor until God 
took her to the home toward which she had 
been looking with joyful expectation. It was 
only last year that she went away from us. I 
can scarcely imagine that home on the Leipzig- 
erstrasse without the mother. My aunt was a 
little woman, not much over five feet in height. 
Her eyes were dark brown, and her hair har- 
monized with them in color. Her hands were 
not soft like my mother’s, but were rather 
rough and bony. They were beautiful because 
they were such good hands, always working for 
others. 

“ Willkommen, meine Anna,” she said cor- 


Among the Methodists. 105 

dially, as I entered the front door of their 
house. “ Thou seest that the children have 
been expecting thee.” She pointed upward to 
the green wreath hanging over the doorway 
with the motto, “ Herzlich Willkommen,” in 
bright letters. “ Luise and Paul made the 
wreath yesterday. Come, children, and greet 
thy cousin.” They came shyly and gave me a 
friendly kiss. 

“And is there not a baby, auntie? ” I asked. 

“Yes, indeed ; we have always a baby here,” 
she replied, cheerily. “ The good Lord sends 
the great stork with his outspread wings very 
often to our home. Thou knowest children 
are ‘ God’s blessings.’ He is in this room.” 

She opened the door and led me into a 
bright, cheerful room,* where a pleasant-faced 
nurse was holding a chubby baby about nine 
months old. I knelt down by him to kiss his 
velvety cheeks, and he put his little hand on 
my face. I had seen very little of babies, be- 
ing an only child, but I loved them dearly. 

“ Now, Bertha, take Anna to thy room. 
Thou dost not object to sharing Bertha’s room, 
Anna? We are a little crowded with our big 
family.” 

“ Not at all. Aunt Katharina. I shall enjoy 
it.” 


106 


Schwester Anna. 


Bertha and I went away together, and had a 
good talk before the bell rang for our dinner. 
My cousin was short, just like her mother, and 
was one of the winsomest, most attractive, 
girls I ever saw. 

From that time on I was one of the family^ 
My uncle called me his “ other big daughter.” 
In the morning I helped my aunt and Bertha 
with the housework, or amused Master Baby as 
he sat in his carriage. The children all ap- 
peared to like me, and I grew to love them 
very dearly. There were eight altogether, but 
they never were in the way, and had nice, tidy 
ways of caring for each other. Bertha was the 
oldest, being just twenty. Wilhelm and Wil- 
helmina were the twins, and loved each other 
greatly. Fortunately, my uncle was a well- 
to-do man, and could afford to pay servants 
enough to relieve his wife and Bertha of much 
care. It was thus that my cousin could find 
time to study. 

I reached Berlin on Wednesday. All our 
spare time that week was devoted to sight-see- 
ing. We looked at the lovely displays of cost- 
ly goods in the store windows ; we wandered 
through miles of exquisite paintings in the 
galleries; we walked in the Thiergarten. By 
the time Saturday night came we were quite 


Among the Methodists. 


107 


ready for a rest. Sunday morning, when we 
were drinking our coffee, my uncle said : 
“ Anna, dost thou wish that Bertha should go 
with thee to thine own church ? She can do so. 
I would not interfere with thy religious duties in 
any way. Thou knowest we are Methodists, 
and I thought that possibly thy father would 
not care to have thee go with us.” 

“ My father spoke of it,” I answered, “ and 
told me that he was quite willing I should go 
to your church. He says we can worship God 
under any roof if our hearts are right.” 

“ He says truly. Thy father would have 
made a good Methodist; but he thinks no 
Church is equal to the old established one,” he 
said, smiling. “ I believe that if he would 
come and make us a long visit he, too, would 
come over to us. My wife would show him 
the way as she did me.” 

Aunt Katharina laughed. 

“ Thou must not try to influence the child, 
Josef. Hans would think it taking an un- 
fair advantage if we urged our doctrines on 
her while she is in our house.” 

“ Do not fear, mother. There is surely no 
harm in letting her see that we are a godfear- 
ing people, is there?” 

“ No, Josef. We are told to let our * light 


108 


Sch wester Anna. 


shine before men/ Children, run and get ready 
for service. It is already half past eight 
o’clock.” 

“ Church begins in an hour. We shall have 
to hurry,” said Bertha. 

We arranged our room in good order, put on 
our best dresses, and were ready when Uncle 
Josef and Aunt Katharina came out with four 
of the other children. It was a fine morning, 
and the Berliners were out in full force. Most 
of them seemed to be bound for places of 
amusement rather than for church. Many of 
the children wore, strapped to their side, long 
green boxes within which was hidden their 
“ Butterbrod ” to form their luncheon by and 
by. The box, when emptied, would serve as 
an excellent receptacle for the flowers, stones, 
or butterflies which they might collect during 
their day’s ramble. Some of the ladies car- 
ried fans and opera glasses. 

“ Is it not sad,” I heard my uncle say to my 
aunt, “ that so many of our people prefer go- 
ing to the morning concert, or the performance 
at the theater on Sunday, to attending service 
at the house of God ? ” 

“ It is very sad,” responded Aunt Katharina, 
“ but we must remember that most of them do 
not know any better. They have never learned 


Among the Methodists. 


109 


the peace and comfort which comes from serv- 
ing our heavenly Father.” 

As we neared the church I saw a number of 
persons with black books under their arms, who 
were evidently going in our direction. When 
we came to a large gray building my uncle 
stopped. This is our church,” said he. 
“ There, on the left of the archway, is our 
preacher’s house.” We entered a door, and, 
after my uncle and aunt had exchanged pleasant 
greetings with some people who were standing 
inside the hallway, ascended a flight of stairs, 
passed through another entrance, and found 
ourselves in a good-sized church. It looked 
very new and modern to my eyes, so long 
accustomed to churches three centuries old, 
but it was very cheerful and bright. 

I remained standing to pray, as is the custom 
in the Lutheran Church, on entering the seat, 
but to my confusion found that I was alone, the 
rest of the family having knelt down on the 
small benches which were provided in each seat. 
What astonished me most was the simplicity of 
the entire service. The preacher wore no gown. 
There was no altar, no crucifix ; there were no 
candles. The minister ascended the high 
wooden pulpit directly in front of the congre- 
gation and gave out the hymn. The organist 


110 


Schwester Anna. 


played a beautiful tune, quite like those chorals 
which we Lutherans used, and we all joined in 
the singing. The hymn was simple and yet 
grand. It spoke of our need of a Saviour, of 
his death upon the cross for us, of our joy when 
his love filled our hearts. 

Then the preacher prayed, not out of a book, 
but out of his heart ; so it sounded to me. He 
prayed that we might be saved from our sins, 
that this lost world might look to Jesus, that 
the poor might be relieved, the wounded and 
bleeding hearts bound up. I had never 
heard anything like it in all my life. “ He acts 
as if he were really talking to God,” I thought. 

Then portions of Scripture were read ; we 
sang another of those wonderfully touching 
hymns, and the preacher arose and announced 
his text. I shall never forget that sermon. 
The text was, “Believe on the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” There was 
no aimless wandering ; every word was preached 
directly at the hearers. The speaker was a 
young man with a pleasant face and a short 
black beard ; his voice was melodious, his lan- 
guage simple but good. As I sat there I 
thought he was talking directly to me. 

“You whosit before me to-day,hear my words. 
Christ Jesus speaks to your heart. He says, 


Among the Methodists. Ill 

* Unless ye be converted, and become as little 
children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of God.’ 
You may say: have never committed sin. 

I have done no wrong.’ That may be true 
in one sense ; but have you been converted ? 
Have you laid yourself at the foot of the cross? 
Has the Holy Spirit entered your heart? Are 
you Christ’s?” Thus he spoke earnestly, his 
face being illuminated with a holy light, it 
seemed to me. What was it to be converted ? 
I must ask Aunt Katharina. 

At the close of the sermon, and after singing 
another hymn, the preacher called on my uncle 
to pray, and then pronounced the benediction. 
I did not feel like talking on the homeward 
walk. My mind was too full. At dinner my 
uncle asked me how I had liked the service. 

“Very much. Uncle Josef. I could under- 
stand every word of it. I love our Pastor 
Schwartz dearly, but I never remember a word 
of his sermons. This one was so simple and 
so direct that I forgot all about the other 
people, and thought he was talking to me 
alone.” 

“I am glad thou didst enjoy it,” said my 
aunt, from the other end of the long table — I 
had the seat of honor on the right of my uncle 
— “ Preacher Prinz is one of my favorites. He 


112 


Schwester Anna. 


is a very good man, and knows just how to 
reach the hearts of the people.” 

I had supposed that we should all go for a 
walk after dinner ; but, instead, we settled our- 
selves with books. 

“ Hast thou seen our Evangelist, Anna ? ” 
asked Bertha. “ It is a nice little paper.” 

We sat down on the sofa in the best room 
and looked over some numbers of the Metho- 
dist Church paper. It seemed to be written in 
a strange language. The expressions were new 
to me, so different from those to which I was 
accustomed. To my surprise, about four 
o’clock we prepared for church again. Two 
services on Sunday were more than I was ac- 
customed to. My father, though a very good 
man, thought his duty done when he had at- 
tended church in the morning, and was content 
to rest the remainder of the day. Aunt Kath- 
arina stayed at home to read to the little ones. 
“ I may do my duty here as well as at the 
church,” she said, explaining to me why she 
could not go with us. “ God gave me my 
children to love and care for, and since they are 
too little to go to church I must try to teach 
them about Jesus at home.” When we left her 
the babies were clustered about her knee, eag- 
erly listening to the stories which she told them. 


Among the Methodists. 


113 


In the evening we all sang together. Some 
of the hymns were old chorals, with which I 
had been familiar all my life, but the majority 
were new ones ; bright and cheerful songs they 
were. Uncle Josef said that many of them 
were translated from English hymns. 

“Ours is a joyful religion,” he said; “we are 
happy, and why should we not sing joyous 
hymns ? ” 

“ They do not sound like hymns to me, 
uncle,” I said, timidly. 

“ I can easily believe that, child, for I, too, 
was brought up a Lutheran. It is not a de- 
praved Church, like the Roman Catholic, but it 
lacks life. The joy of religion is not felt by its 
members.” 

“ My father and mother are good. Uncle Jo- 
sef ; they are happy and cheerful in their faith.” 

“ Thy parents are different from many of the 
members of the State Church. They live what 
they profess, and they study their Bibles. But 
I will warrant that thou never heardest a ser- 
mon like that one this morning from any Lu- 
theran pulpit.” ' 

“ No, uncle.” 

“ That is the trouble, Anna. There is no life 
in the Church. They are nominally Christians, 
but they know not the joy of pardoned sin. nor 
8 


114 


Schwester Anna. 


the fellowship with Christ which the Church 
felt in days gone by. Martin Luther was 
not so. He taught the Gospel, pure and sim- 
ple. He did not get up and lecture to a half- 
filled church upon the new theology, and ex- 
press doubts as to the divinity of Christ, as do 
some of the State Church pastors of to-day.” 

“ Thou hast mounted thy hobby again, my 
Josef,” said Aunt Katharina, laughing. ^‘Come, 
girls, if work begins this week you must be off 
for bed.” 

It was some days before I could get an oppor- 
tunity to speak quietly with my aunt, for she was 
such a busy woman. There was scarcely a 
moment in the day when one or the other of 
the eight children did not want “ the little 
mother.” One day, however, when most of 
the boys and girls were off for a long walk with 
their school friends, and Bertha was practicing 
in the drawing-room, and baby was asleep, I 
managed to catch Aunt Katharina alone in her 
room, hard at work on a basket full of mending. 

“ Let me help thee, auntie,” I said. I have 
so little to do here that I fear I shall grow 
lazy.” 

Well, child, if thou wishest thou mayest 
work a little. Here is a big darning needle and 
there are Heinrich’s black socks with unusually 


Among the Methodists. 115 

large holes in them, Marie is so busy to-day 
that she cannot help me at all. Art thou not a 
little homesick here, Anna ? I noticed yesterday 
that thou hadst been crying. Come ! tell me 
all about it.” 

“ I am ashamed to say so, Aunt Katharina, 
when you are all so kind to me, but I have such 
a longing to see my father and mother I can 
scarcely restrain myself sometimes from going 
home.” I put my head down on Heinrich’s big 
black sock, and cried heartily. 

“ Cry on, my child,” said my aunt, laying 
down her work and coming to put her arms 
about me ; “ it will relieve thee. I think thou 
art a very brave girl to keep a cheerful face be- 
fore us all when thy heart is so lonely for the 
dear parents. Thou hast heard from the 
mother?” 

“ Yes ; I have had three letters. They are 
cheerful and comforting; but I know father and 
mother are lonely without me, and I am so 
lonely without them. Thou wilt not mind, 
dear aunt ? ” for I was afraid she might be of- 
fended at my longing for home. 

I do not mind at all, Anna. It is quite 
natural thou shouldst long for the dear ones. 
I felt just the same when I first left home. 
However, thou must remember that it would 


116 


Schwester Anna. 


make thy mother sad if she knew that thou 
wast grieving. They are making great sacri- 
fices for thee.” 

“ I know it, Aunt Katharina. I will do the 
best I can and make them proud of me. My 
cry has done me good.” 

“ Then dry thine eyes, child, and we will 
have a nice talk. It will not be long before 
baby will awaken, and I shall have to go.” 

As the work grew under our busy fingers we 
talked of the beautiful things to be seen and 
learned in this great city, and of how carefully 
our time should be economized. 

For the night cometh, when no mart can 
work,’” quoted my aunt. 

“ Aunt Katharina,” I said, gathering up my 
courage, what did the preacher mean on Sun- 
day when he said we must be converted ? ” 

“ He meant that we must repent of our sins 
and believe on the Saviour, allowing him to 
give us a new and clean heart. We must 
turn from our old ways and walk in the path 
which leads toward heaven.” 

“Am I converted. Aunt Katharina?” 

“ Only thou canst know, Anna.” 

“ I was baptized into the membership of 
our Church. I have always gone to church. 
When I was fourteen I was confirmed, and our 


Among the Methodists. 117 

old pastor trained me in the catechism. I have 
always prayed to God, night and morning, and 
whenever any difficulty came in my way. 
Mother taught me to do that.” 

“ Thy mother is an excellent Christian 
woman,” interrupted my aunt. 

“ But I do not know whether I am converted 
or not,” I continued. 

“ Dost thou believe that Jesus Christ is thy 
Saviour; that he saves thee from thy sins ? ” 

“ I certainly do.” 

“ Art thou willing to give- thyself to him, to 
go where he calls, to consecrate thy whole life 
to him and to his service? ” 

“ I have done that already. Aunt Katharina, 
in my little room at home. It tells us to do 
that in the Bible.” 

“ I believe that thou art truly the Lord’s, 
Anna. Let us kneel down here and ask God 
to guide and lead us both.” 

So we knelt in that quiet room, and my good 
aunt prayed. Then she said, “ Anna, wilt 
thou not pray too ? ” I was quite afraid, for 
only in my own room had I dared to pray aloud, 
but I tried, remembering that I was not pray- 
ing for my aunt, but for God, who hears even 
the weakest cry. 

“ O Lord, I give myself to thee. Do thou 


118 


Schwester Anna. 


make me to know whether I am truly converted. 
Make me entirely thine. Do with me what 
thou wilt, only let it be for thy glory,” I said. 

“ Thou art indeed a Christian, Anna,” said 
my aunt, wiping away her tears. “ May the 
dear Lord bless and keep thee ! ” 

Then, as baby called from the next room, my 
aunt went away to her child, and I went on 
with my darning. My heart was peaceful and 
happy. I felt that I was indeed Christ’s, and 
he was mine. Little did I dream of the sacri- 
fices which this consecration to God’s work 
might require of me ; but even if I had seen 
into the future and known the trials before 
me, I should not have done differently. Christ 
had bought me and saved me. Could I do 
less than give myself and my poor, weak life 
to him ? 


In the Great City. 


119 


CHAPTER XL 
In the Great City* 

S soon as possible Bertha and I began our 



i \ studies. We had both taken a little 
French and English in the schools, but now 
that our minds were more mature, and as we 
felt an inspiration to learn, which most chil- 
dren lack, we advanced rapidly. Our French 
teacher was a lady from Paris, who spoke her 
native tongue with a very pure accent. She 
taught us three times a week. Our English 
teacher was an American, who was spending 
the winter in Berlin, and was very glad to get 
a little work to do. She was preparing herself 
to be a teacher in her own country. Every 
day she came to us for an hour, and we soon 
became able to converse a little in English. 
It is not a difficult language to speak, though 
we found the pronunciation and spelling very 


hard. 


In our music we progressed, but not very 
rapidly. I was studying vocal music, and also 
took lessons on the piano. Bertha devoted 
her time entirely to the piano, and was much 
more advanced than I was, having had the ad- 
vantage of better instruction. In vocal music I 


120 


Schwester Anna. 


was ahead of her, for, although her voice was 
sweet, it was not powerful, and my uncle did 
not consider it necessary to put any extra ex- 
pense on lessons for her. I had sung ever since 
I was a child. My father called me his “ little 
bird,” and many a Volkslied ” did we sing in 
our pleasant arbor. He was very anxious that 
my voice should be well trained, and for some 
years our music master in Wittenberg had been 
teaching me. The latter was a graduate of the 
Leipzig* Conservatory, and gave me the best 
advantages possible. So, on reaching Berlin, 
although I found the professor critical and 
somewhat severe, there was very little to undo, 
as I had been taught the proper method. 

What an inspiration there was in the lessons 
under these professors ! Everything was in- 
teresting, from the playing of our fellow- 
pupils and the criticisms bestowed upon them 
to the time when Professor Kepler gazed 
sternly through his spectacles at me and 
turned the battery of sarcasm in my direction. 
Dear old Professor Kepler ! The girls used to 
discuss the serious question, when we were 
putting on our wraps in the cloak room, as to 
whether he ever did comb his hair. 

“ It always stands straight up on his head,” 
said Mina Worman. 


121 


In the Great City. 

But then, you know, we take our lesson at 
five in the afternoon,’' I suggested. Prob- 
ably in the morning he looks perfectly im- 
maculate, just like the director, who always 
looks as if he came direct from his toilet 
room.” 

“ No, it is not a bit better in the morning,” 
spoke up another girl. “ I take my lesson at 
eight o’clock, and his hair sticks up just the 
same.” 

“ Girls,” said Hanna Frost, “ I saw Professor 
Kepler once when his hair was as smooth as 
mine.” 

That is not saying much,” laughed Mina, 

if yours looked as it does now.” 

“ Well, what can you expect when I have 
been simply crazy over those violin studies ? 
They never would come right.” 

“When was it, Hanna? Go on about Pro- 
fessor Kepler,” we cried. 

“ One night I was at a Philharmonic with 
my brother, and right opposite us was our 
teacher. You know he is a confirmed bachelor, 
so I was much surprised to see him with Frau 
and Fraiilein Krupp. You know Frau Krupp 
is so old that she can scarcely see, and her 
daughter must be at least seventy.’’ 

“ O, Hanna ! ” exclaimed the chorus. 


122 


Schwester Anna. 


‘‘ Well, she’s fifty, anyway. But Professor 
Kepler was as attentive to her as if she were 
twenty; just like Heinrich Otto was to you, 
Bertha, the same night,” she said, laughingly, 
turning to my cousin, who had come in, and 
was standing quietly listening. 

Bertha grew very rosy. 

“ You must not blush, Fraiilein Bertha, 
Everybody knows that Heinrich is ready to 
bow down and worship you if you will let 
him.” 

You are far away from Professor Kepler’s 
hair,” I said, wishing to divert the lively girl’s 
attention from my blushing and embarrassed 
cousin. 

“ Ach ! yes. I had to look twice at him, to 
be positive whether it was really himself or his 
ghost, for his hair lay flat upon his head, and 
looked as smooth as a looking-glass. But I 
must go, or I shall be late for supper.” 

“ So must I,” added one girl after another. 

Bertha and I walked slowly toward home. 

“ Thou heardest what Hanna said about 
Heinrich,” she said, quietly. 

“Yes, Bertha.” 

“ I should like to tell thee, Anna, that last 
night he asked father if I might be his wife, 
and as my father and mother consent we shall 


123 


In the Great City. 

soon be betrothed/’ She turned an extremely 
red face to me. 

I am very glad, Bertha, dear. Heinrich is 
good and faithful, and I am sure thou wilt be 
happy with him.” 

“ I love him very dearly, Anna, and have 
loved him a long time.” 

Thus it came about that on my aunt’s birth- 
day there was a happy betrothal in our home. 
Bertha wore a pretty, new gray gown made 
especially for the occasion, and young Heinrich, 
with a very flushed face and very new clothes, 
was exceedingly joyful. My aunt made a feast 
for us, we sang cheerful songs, and everyone 
was overflowing with happiness. Of course, 
after that, as my cousin was a Braut,” she 
took no more lessons at the conservatory. 
All her spare time was devoted to making fine 
linen garments, which she embroidered in 
beautiful patterns of vines and flowers. The 
oaken chest, in which my aunt had placed, from 
time to time, pieces of linen and cloth, or bits 
of silverware presented to Bertha on her birth- 
days, in anticipation of this happy occasion, 
was gradually emptied of its contents. The 
pile of finished garments and household articles 
grew higher and higher, and the time went 
past before we knew it. 


124 


Schwester Anna. 


One evening we all, that is, my uncle and 
aunt, Bertha and her betrothed, Heinrich, my 
oldest boy cousin, and I, went to one of the 
Philharmonic concerts. We found a table 
large enough to hold our party, and sat down 
around it to eat some light refreshments and 
listen to the exquisite orchestral music. After 
they had finished the third number of the pro- 
gram I heard my uncle exclaim : There is 

Schwester Lena, sitting all alone over by that 
little round table. I will go and ask her to 
come here. That is, if there is room.” 

“ Ach ! yes, do so,” responded Aunt Katha- 
rina. ‘‘We can easily sit a little closer.” 

“ That we can,” said Heinrich Otto, as he 
pressed Bertha’s hand, an act which the mother 
did not see. 

Soon my uncle returned with a woman about 
fifty years of age, wearing the dress of a dea- 
coness. It was not the same as the costume of 
the deaconesses of the Lutheran Church, who 
wear no cape, and have a close-fitting bonnet, 
with a veil hanging from the back. This was 
my first view of a Methodist deaconess. Little 
did I dream that I, too, would some day wear a 
similar dress and be a member of the same band. 

“ Guten Abend ! ” we all exclaimed as the 
deaconess came near. I remembered then that 


125 


In the Great City. 

I had seen her in the church. She sat on our 
left with about thirty other women wearing the 
same costume. I had not paid much attention 
to them, being so interested in our preacher’s 
sermons. I attended the Methodist Church 
regularly, going twice on Sundays and twice 
during the week to evening meetings. Uncle 
said that I was getting to be quite a Methodist. 

‘‘This is my niece, Fraulein Lufft, from 
Wittenberg, Schwester Lena,” said Uncle Josef, 
as I arose to greet the older woman. 

“ I am very glad to meet you, Fraulein,” said 
she. “ I knew your father and mother many 
years ago when I was deaconess at Kaisers- 
werth.” 

“You were then formerly a Lutheran, 
Schwester Lena ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes. I was nine years at Kaiserswerth, and 
afterward worked in various cities of the king- 
dom under the same organization.” 

“ And you are now a Methodist ? ” 

“ Is that so very strange ? ” she responded, 
smiling. 

“ My niece is a Lutheran,” said Aunt 
Katharina, and is interested to know how you 
happened to change your faith.” I looked at 
her thankfully; that was just what I wished to 
ask, but felt too shy. 


if 


126 


Sch wester Anna. 


“ Listen a moment to the music I How 
beautiful it is! Yet there are people who 
think it wicked to enjoy the gifts which God 
has given us. Fraiilein Lufft, I shall be glad to 
tell you about my change from the Lutheran to 
the Methodist faith if you will come to the 
Deaconess Home to see me on Friday.” 

“ I shall come gladly,” I replied. 

“ I thought you deaconesses were too busy 
to spend an evening for a concert,” said my 
uncle. 

“ That is true, usually, and, too, we hesitate 
to spend our money for tickets when there are so 
many suffering for bread. To-night, however, 
I have a treat. Herr Lichtner, the gentleman 
whom one of our deaconesses nursed through a 
dangerous illness last year, is a member of the 
orchestra up there. He plays the violin. He 
sent to our Home a season ticket to the Philhar- 
monics, and we take turns coming to enjoy the 
beautiful music. To-night the lot fell to me. 
The music strengthens us for our duties.” 

“ I thought Herr Lichtner was a Lutheran ? ” 
“ So he is. But, you know, much of our work 
is done in the very best Lutheran families. 
They seem to prefer us, sometimes, to their 
own deaconesses.” ^ 

“ For the same reason that Herr Schmidt 


In the Great City. 127 

expressed the other day. You remember that 
his wife was very ill a year or two ago.” 

“ Yes. Sch wester Rosalina and Schwester 
Susanna nursed her.” 

Well, a few weeks ago she was taken again 
very ill, and they sent at once to our Deaconess 
Home for a nurse, but were not able to get any, 
as there is so much sickness about.” 

It is a hard winter,” murmured Schwester 
Lena. 

“ Herr Schmidt got two deaconesses of the 
State Church, but was not pleased with them. 
The family do not attend any church, but they 
know a good Christian woman when they see 
her. I met him the other day and asked him 
how his wife was getting on. ‘ She is improv- . 
ing slowly,’ he said. ‘ I wish we could have 
had one of your deaconesses. They are like 
sunshine in the house, and cheer my poor, dear 
wife greatly. I tell you, Lufft,’ he added ear- 
nestly, ‘ those women live what they profess.' 

I thought that was a pretty good recommenda- 
tion for our Bethanien-Verein for a worldly 
man.” 

I am thankful that it is so,” said Schwester 
Lena, and the conversation drifted away to 
other subjects. 


128 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER XIL 
Important Events* 

O N Friday afternoon I went to the Dea- 
coness House. The Society owns the 
entire building, facing on a broad, handsome 
street, but occupies only the apartment on 
the first floor. The upper stories are rented 
to outsiders. The bright-faced deaconess who 
opened the front door for me showed me into 
a pleasant, well-furnished parlor. Schwester 
Lena soon came in, and urged me to take a cup 
of coffee with her and eat some delicious little 
cakes which their cook had made. As we sat 
there she told me something of her life. 

As she had said that night at the Philhar- 
monic concert, she was trained at the old home 
in Kaiserswerth. Then she worked for some 
years among the Lutherans, until she was 
about thirty-five years old. 

“One Sunday,” she said, “I was walking 
through these Berlin streets when I heard sweet 
singing, and following the sound found myself 
in a small room which was well filled with peo- 
ple. The preacher gave us an excellent dis- 
course, but its chief value in my eyes was the 
stress which he laid on our personal responsi- 


Important Events. 


129 


bility to God. He said that no Church could 
save us. It would make no difference at the 
last day, when we came before the judgment 
seat of Christ, whether we had been baptized 
into a Church or not if we were not truly con- 
verted. I was much impressed by these plain 
truths, and after the service went up and spoke 
to the preacher. After some talk, and medita- 
tion, and prayer, I decided to join the Metho- 
dists. I felt very sad at leaving my old 
Lutheran friends, of whom I was very fond, 
but I felt that I could serve God better in this 
denomination.” 

“ What are you doing now, Schwester Lena ? ” 
I asked. 

“ I am a Bible woman. I go in and out of 
the streets of this great city, trying to help the 
helpless and bring comfort to some poor heart. 
I nurse a little, when necessary, but I am get- 
ting too old for that kind of work, and I usually 
accompany the nursing deaconesses, and while 
they sweep, and clean, and make comfortable the 
lonely, cheerless homes of the poor and sick I 
read to them of Jesus and his love.” 

It is a beautiful work ! ” I exclaimed. 

“Yes, although homely, quiet labor, it is 
beautiful in God’s sight.” 

I left her with a resolution to examine care- 
9 


130 


Schwester Anna. 


fully my own heart and see whether it was right 
for me to follow my inclinations and ally my- 
self with this Methodist sect of dissenters, as 
they were called, or whether I ought to hold to 
the faith of my father and my father’s father. 
I had been attending my uncle’s church so 
long that I had begun to feel a deep interest in 
its workings. The Sunday school attracted me 
greatly. I loved to teach the children. It 
seemed to me that I felt a new rest and peace 
when mingling with these people of God. It 
was my church home on earth. I felt drawn 
to them in a strange way. 

In order that I might know more of Metho- 
dism, I read the literature concerning its be- 
ginnings in Germany. I read of Fathers Jacoby 
and Nast, of their trials and discouragements, 
and of the almost marvelous spread of their 
doctrines. As I could now read English quite 
well, I got a book called the History of Metho- 
dism from my uncle’s library, written by a Dr. 
Stevens, and read it through with great inter- 
est. I had never realized, and did not believe 
that my father knew, what a great denomina- 
tion the Methodists constituted in the new land 
across the sea. 

Aunt Katharina and I talked it all over, and 
finally decided to write and ask my father’s ad- 


Important Events. 


131 


vice, instead of waiting to talk with him on my 
return to Wittenberg. This I did with much 
fear ; I had never opposed my father’s wishes 
and should not do so now if he objected seri- 
ously, for my aunt said it was not a matter in 
which I ought to go against his judgment. I 
knew him to be strongly attached to our Estab- 
lished Church. Great was my surprise when I 
received his letter. I have it in front of me. 
It has always been a comfort to me to know 
that my father was a thorough Christian, broad 
in his views of humanity. It reads thus : 

Wittenberg, April 2. 

“ My Dear Daughter : 

“ Thy mother and I have received thy letter. 
It surprised us very much, but did not grieve us ; 
for we know our daughter will try to live as her 
conscience dictates and God is leading her. We 
had a long talk about it last night as we sat by 
the fire, and we concluded that thou art old 
enough to make thine own choice. Who are we 
that we should place our wishes before the 
Lord’s will ? 

“ Any denomination which has developed 
the Christian graces as they are shown in thine 
Uncle and Aunt Lufft is worthy to receive our 
daughter also. Thy mother and I are too old 


132 


Schwester Anna. 


for changes ; our hearts are bound up in the 
Church of our youth, but thou art free to serve 
God in thine own way. May the good God 
bless and keep thee, my child, and guide thee 
in all thy ways ! 

“ Thy mother sends her dearest love. We 
are counting the days now until we shall see 
thee again. Of course thou must remain for 
Bertha’s wedding. 

“ Give our heartiest greeting to our brother 
and sister, as well as to Bertha and her bride- 
groom, and all of the children. 

“Thine affectionate father, 

“ Hans Lufft.” 

Thus it came about that on Easter morning, 
when the preacher invited those who desired 
to unite with the Church on probation to come 
forward, I arose and took my place with three 
young people before the altar. After the serv- 
ice the members gathered about me and greeted 
me kindly. Schwester Lena kissed me on both 
cheeks and said : “ Thou wilt find peace with 
us, child. My heart goes out to thee in love.” 
From that time until now Schwester Lena has 
been my dear, loving friend. 

The spring passed by. Between the lessons 
and preparations for Bertha’s wedding the time 


Important Events. 


133 


flew quickly. It was in the last of June that 
my cousin entered our church a “ Braut and 
came out a “ Frau.’' 

At home in Wittenberg there was an oaken 
chest in which my mother had placed pieces of 
linen and bits of silverware for my wedding, if 
it should come. I wondered, like any other 
simple-hearted German maiden, as I watched 
Bertha and Heinrich at their joyful bridal, 
whether it should be my lot in life to wear the 
myrtle blossom. I did not know. Our future 
is so overshadowed by clouds and mists that 
we can see but a little distance. 

A few days more and I was back at Witten- 
berg. My arms were about my mother’s neck. 
I sat again on the low stool at father’s feet. 

‘‘Ach! It is a fine city Fraulein we have 
now,” grumbled old Gretchen, as she moved 
about the room, setting the table with the fes- 
tival dishes. 

“ No, indeed ! ” I said, jumping up to give 
her a hearty kiss. “ It is the same old Anna 
come back to stay in the dearest home in all 
the world.” 


134 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Home Agfain. 

H OW pleasant it was to be back again ! 

The birds sang more sweetly than ever 
to greet me, and the flowers seemed to wear 
gayer apparel than usual in my honor. 

“ It is because thou art accustomed to the 
dull, narrow streets of the city, Anna,” said 
the mother, when I told her of my fancy. “ It 
is a good thing to go away from home some- 
times, in order that we may enjoy more fully 
the plain, ordinary blessings of our everyday 
life.’' 

“ And learn to appreciate our fathers and 
mothers,” I added, laughing. “ Thou must be 
shorter than when I left, mother. I quite look 
down upon thee.” 

“ It is thou who hast grown tall, my Anna. 
I had no idea that thou couldst change so 
much in seven months. Thou art taller and 
very much more womanly; but I think my 
child's heart is the same.” 

“Just the same, mother dear, except that it 
is fuller of love than when I left thee and the 
dear old home.” 

We sat down, and I told her of the new joy 


135 


Home Again. 

which I had found in Berlin, and how 
this deep love for my Saviour had brightened 
and beautified my whole life. Mother was 
very much pleased. 

“ I have often felt a lack in our Church life,” 
she said, thoughtfully. “ It did not seem to 
me to be so full of the Bible life as it should 
be. But I have rather condemned myself for 
it, thinking it presuming to criticise our great 
State Church. I am glad that thou hast found 
friends among these god-fearing people. As 
thy father wrote thee, we are quite satisfied 
with thy choice. I trust, though, that thy 
principles will not prevent thee from going 
with us to our service. We should feel sad 
not to have thee by our side.” 

“ Not at all, mother. I shall be glad to go 
with thee and father.” 

Every Sunday morning we went down the 
long street to our old church, not hand in 
hand, as in days gone by, but side by side. I 
noticed that the neighbors looked a little 
askance at me, for the report was already cir- 
culated that I had joined the Methodists. Un- 
fortunately, the only representatives of that 
denomination in our small town had been two 
persons who were very unworthy to be mem- 
bers of this good Church, and who were 


136 


Schwester Anna. 


expelled some time before I joined it. This 
latter fact was not known among our friends ; 
my uncle had told me of it in Berlin. It grieved 
my parents a little to find that my old friends 
greeted me so coldly, and they easily guessed 
the reason. 

The person who spoke to me most cordially 
was Margaretta Schmidt, and I had reason to 
thinkthat hermotive was notaltogetherfriendly. 
As we were walking toward home after church, 
the first Sunday, she rushed up to me and 
shook me warmly by the hand. 

How are you, Anna ? ” she said. “ How 
much you have improved since you went to 
Berlin ! Really, one would scarcely know you, 
now that you are dressed with some style. Your 
old clothes were always so dowdy. I am glad 
your father saw the fitness of things and gave 
you plenty of money. Do not stand,” she 
added, before I had time to say a word ; “ I will 
walk along with you. What possessed you to 
join the Methodists? I cannot understand it. 
Of all mean, ill-bred people, I think they are 
the worst.” 

“You are mistaken, Margaretta,” I managed 
to say, as she stopped to take breath. 

“Ach! Doubtless you have been hoodwinked 
by that uncle and aunt of yours in Berlin.” 


Home Again. 


137 


** No, indeed, I did it of my own free will.” 

** You think so, of course. Well, it is the 
end of all fun for you, and you are just old 
enough to begin to enjoy life. They are aw- 
fully strict. I have heard that they will not 
allow one to dance, nor go to see any of the 
good plays. Is it not so ? ” 

“ I believe it is.” 

Well, I predict that you will not be a Meth- 
odist long.” 

I smiled, but said nothing. It really was not 
worth while to argue with this gay girl. How 
could she understand if I were to tell her that 
the peace in my heart was worth all the balls 
and theaters in the world ? 

“ By the way,” said Margaretta, speaking as 
if the thought had suddenly come to her, ‘‘ I 
spent two weeks in Heidelberg this winter.” 

“ Is it so ? When ?” 

Early in March. I had a perfectly splendid 
time, and saw our old friend, Gottfried Herr- 
mann, many times. In fact, he paid me quite 
marked attention.” She stopped for me to re- 
spond, but I did not think of anything to say. 

It is really too bad that he is such a wild 
fellow, but those men are always more fascinat- 
ing, are they not ? ” 

I said, “ To some people.” 


138 


Schwester Anna. 


“ Yes, of course, not to you, who would never 
look at a man unless he was a saint. Really, I 
don’t remember that he asked after you or 
even mentioned your name. Strange, isn’t it, 
how quickly the man forgets the friendships of 
his boyhood ? ” 

We had reached our gate, and I was waiting 
for her to close the conversation. I felt weak 
and tired. 

“ Since you will not ask me in,” she added, 
laughing, “ I suppose I must go home. It is 
not worth my while to invite you to my dance 
next week, since you have sworn off all worldly 
pleasure.” 

No,” I replied, and we said “ Adieu.” My 
heartfelt a little heavy. Verily it was harder 
to be a Methodist than I had thought. Would 
they all treat me as Margaretta did ? Would 
Gottfried think also that I was trying to be a 
saint and looked down with disdain upon the 
rest of the world ? Well, it could not be helped. 
Duty was duty, and our chief end in life was not 
so much to please ourselves as to serve our 
heavenly Father. Margaretta’s cruel words 
about Gottfried’s neglect to inquire for me did 
not trouble me at all. I remembered what he 
had said to me the night before I left for Ber- 
lin, and how he had asked for the little pink 


Home Again. 


139 


aster which I wore on my dress, and I was quite 
content. I had heard nothing about him all 
winter. My mother never mentioned him in 
her letters, and I did not like to ask for him. 

As the days wore on I found that the dislike 
to me on account of having left the State 
Church increased, and I was invited nowhere. 
I tried not to mind it, as it left me more time 
for my father and mother, my housework and 
studies. It was a little hard, though, to be so 
misunderstood. One afternoon my mother came 
to the door of my room, where I had gone to 
read some French. I feared to lose the little 
which I had learned, and tried to give an hour 
a day to the languages. 

“ Pastor Schwartz wishes to see thee, dear,” 
said mother. “ I hope he will say nothing to 
hurt thy feelings.” 

“I think he will not, little mother. I shall 
be very glad to talk with him.” 

The old man pressed my hand kindly and 
motioned me to a seat near him. “ I do not 
hear so well as I used to, my dear. You must 
speak distinctly.” 

'' I am very glad to see you, Herr Pastor. It 
is a great honor.” 

We were in the best room, thrown open for 
this occasion, and Pastor Schwartz was seated 


140 


Schwester Anna. 


on the sofa in much state. My mother had 
put on her new black silk apron which Aunt 
Katharina had sent her by me from Berlin, and 
came in and sat down a little distance from the 
Herr Pastor. 

“ How you have grown, Anna ! I suppose I 
must say ‘ you,’ since you are such a woman, 
but it seems more natural to say ‘ thou.’ ” 

“ Please do so, Herr Pastor. It would give 
me pleasure.” 

“ I will do so, then. How well I remember 
when thou wast born, and how I took thee in 
my arms and baptized thee ! I think thou 
bearest the names Martha, Maria, Christina, 
Anna. Is it not so ? ” said he, turning to my 
mother. 

“Yes, Herr Pastor.” 

“ It seems but yesterday. The years go so 
fast. Now that I am old they seem to fly.” 

“ You are still strong and well, Herr Pastor,” 
said my mother. 

“Yes, thank God, but not so strong as I 
used to be. My sight and hearing are failing 
— sure signs of old age,” he replied, smil- 
ing. “ But, my child, I am grieved to hear 
that thou hast left us and gone over to the 
Methodists. I can scarcely understand it. I 
remember so well thy confirmation. Thou 


Home Again. 


141 


gavest the best answers of any in thy class. 
What led thee to this step ? I have nothing 
against the Methodists. They are good people, 
and some of their preachers — as they call them 
— are excellent men, although it seems to me 
they are not needed in our fatherland. How 
did it happen ? ” 

“ I can scarcely tell you, Herr Pastor. I 
went to their church with my uncle’s family — ” 

“ I am surprised that thy father allowed it ! ” 

“We thought it best, Herr Pastor,” said my 
mother. 

“ I was much impressed by their simplicity 
and their direct teaching of the Holy Scrip- 
tures. Then I felt the need of a new heart, and 
asked and obtained it from God. After that I 
felt that my place was with those people who 
had helped me to a closer union with my Sav- 
iour.” 

I did not like to say too much, for fear that 
the dear old pastor would be hurt. He shook 
his head gently. 

“ I cannot understand it,” he said, immedi- 
ately. “ Thou wast always a Christian. I, my- 
self, heard thy catechism and confirmed thee. 
I saw thee in thy white dress, pure and mod- 
est as thou earnest to take thy first communion 
from my hands. I cannot understand it ! ” 


142 


Schwester Anna. 


I felt confused. I could not go on and ex- 
plain what it was that his preaching had lacked, 
which I found in the other Church. I could 
not find fault with this good man, who was my 
father’s friend. So I was much relieved to see 
my father enter the room, and soon Gretchen 
brought hot coffee and fresh tea cakes. The 
conversation changed to other topics of the day, 
and it was not until the old pastor was leaving 
that he again referred to the subject. 

“ I trust, dear child, that thou wilt see the er- 
ror of thy way, and return to our own Church,” 
he said. 

“ Dear Herr Pastor,” interrupted my father, 
“it has seemed to us that Anna is old enough 
to obey her own conscience, and we have left 
her quite free to follow her inclination in the 
matter.” 

“ I hope they may not have led her astray,” 
our pastor said ; “ may God bless you all. 
Amen.” 


The Coffee Drinking. 


143 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Coffee Drinking* 

N ot many days after this visit we were hon- 
ored by a call from Frau Herrmann. It 
was a very unusual occurrence, as she had not 
been in our house for a year. There were two 
reasons for this ; the first was that her large 
family kept her very much confined to the 
house ; the second was that she never had liked 
us much. Being a very proud woman, she 
looked down upon my father because he was in 
business instead of professional work. To-day 
her errand was a peaceful one. She wanted 
to invite mother and myself to take a cup of 
coffee with her on the following Wednesday, 
which was the twentieth of July. There would 
be a few other mutual friends, she said. With 
many formal greetings she went away. 

“ I should like to know what prompted that 
invitation,” said father at supper time. “ How 
long is it since thou wast invited to Frau Herr- 
mann’s, Martha?” 

“ It must be eight years now. It was when 
her mother was here visiting. Thou knowest 
she was well acquainted with my aunt, and 
wanted to talk over old times with me.” 


144 


Sch wester Anna. 


“ I cannot imagine what started her,” replied 
father, slowly. “ Frau Herrmann is the sort of 
a woman who always has a motive, either good 
or bad, underlying her actions.” 

** Perhaps it is because my young lady daugh- 
ter has come home,” said mother, smiling at 
me. 

Hum ! ” muttered father. “ I should not 
be surprised if that did have something to do 
with it,’' and he shook his head as he left the 
table. 

Thy father never thought much of Frau 
Herrmann,” said mother. “ Now, I never dis- 
liked her, though she is, of course, a little pe- 
culiar.” 

She is very fond of having her own way, 
and usually gets it, so Gottfried used to say,” 
I responded. 

“ Well, we will go to the coffee drinking any- 
way, and thou must look thy prettiest. I fancy 
thou needest a new gown for the occasion.” 

Then we talked about clothes, usually a very 
fascinating subject of conversation for women, 
and my mother planned a new dress for me. 

The twentieth of July was not pleasant in 
the morning ; it was foggy and chilly. About 
twelve o’clock, however, the sun shone out 
warm and bright. “We shall have a pleasant 


The Coffee Drinking. 


145 


day after all,” said mother. “ I had begun to 
think that thou couldst not wear thy new 
muslin.” At four o’clock I went into my moth- 
er’s room and arranged her soft gray hair, 
and helped her put on the silvery silk, which 
harmonized so well with her beautiful hair and 
rosy cheeks. I told her how sweet and pretty 
she looked, and she laughingly called me a flat- 
terer. “ Perhaps I might compliment thee,” 
she said, later, when I came down, dressed in 
the new muslin, ^‘but I fear to make thee 
vain. I am old and shall not have my head 
turned, but thou art young.” 

We chatted merrily as we went across the 
garden and through the opening in the hedge. 
I was wondering if Gottfried had come home 
yet. It must be about time for the university 
to close, and this was his last year. I should like 
to see him very much. 

Nearly all of the guests had arrived when we 
reached the house. Old Frau Griinewald was 
seated on the big green sofa in the parlor in 
company with two other elderly ladies. There 
were several of my mother’s friends there, with 
whom she was soon in earnest conversation. It 
did my mother good to get away from home a 
little, I thought as I watched her bright, ani- 
mated face. There were also several young 
10 


146 


Schwester Anna. 


people whom I had known well formerly, but 
who now paid very little attention to me until 
Margaretta came in. She, for some reason 
known only to herself, had taken the notion to 
care for me, and it was really a relief to have 
her come and speak cordially to me. It seemed 
to be only the fact of my being a Methodist 
which made the girls treat me so coldly. After 
Margaretta had drawn me into the circle of 
young people Elizabeth Kappel, who was sit- 
ting next to me, told me so. 

“ We cannot feel the same toward you, 
Anna, now that you have left our Church. 
The Methodists always seem to us a very 
vulgar people.’' 

Indeed, you would not think so, Elizabeth, 
if you knew them. They are very pleasant 
people, and I saw no difference at all between 
their manners and those of the persons I have 
always known.” I was very much tempted to 
add that I had heard very little gossip about 
their neighbors among them, but I recollected 
that it was better and wiser not to make any 
sharp speeches. 

‘‘ Well, anyway,” continued Elizabeth, ‘‘ I 
always liked you, and I do not believe that 
you could be vulgar if you tried ever so hard.” 

I smiled at her frankness, and we were soon 


The Coffee Drinking. 


147 


having a gay time. Suddenly I noticed that 
Margaretta’s face was very flushed, and that 
her eyes were fixed upon the other end of 
the room. I heard Frau Herrmann say, My 
son, ladies,” and there was a great bustle 
among the older people. There came a quick 
step behind us, and I heard the well-known 
voice saying : “ Good afternoon, ladies. What 
a bevy of beauties ! There are none equal to 
you in Heidelberg.” 

‘‘As you, doubtless, know very well from 
experience,” replied Margaretta’s gay voice, 
though I saw that her face was rosier than 
ever. 

As yet I had not seen him, but now, as he 
was shaking hands with each girl, I was obliged 
to rise and face him. How handsome he had 
grown ! There was an ease and a grace in his 
bearing which was that of an educated, well- 
bred man. He came nearer and nearer, until, 
at last, it was my hand that he took ; it was to 
me that he spoke. 

“ How are you, Fraiilein Lufift ? It is a long 
time since I have seen you.” 

“ Yes, it is some months,” I managed to say. 

“ Have you enjoyed the winter? ” 

“Very much indeed.” 

Was it imagination, or did he really glance 


148 


Schwester Anna. 


quickly at the hand where the little turquoise 
ring was? I could scarcely tell. He turned 
from me and, going to the other side of the 
circle, sat down between Margaretta and an- 
other very lively girl. They had great fun 
over there. I could hear the gay laughter. I 
w'as glad to sit alone and look at Gottfried 
without his seeing me. His face was changed, 
but it was not a bad face. There were no 
marks of dissipation upon it. I did not believe 
the stories about him. I should believe what 
he told me if ever he gave me his confidence 
again. As I was looking at him, thinking, he 
glanced up suddenly full in my eyes. After 
that I confined my attention to the girls near 
me, and we enjoyed ourselves very much. 

After coffee, which Frau Herrmann’s neat 
little maid served to us on small tables, and 
when we had eaten some delicious strawberries, 
we wandered, two by two, out into the garden. 
Elizabeth and I were still together. Not far 
ahead of us walked Margaretta and Gottfried. 
She was talking very rapidly and he was listen- 
ing, evidently much amused. 

“ I believe that will be a match,” murmured 
Elizabeth in my ear. “ According to Marga- 
retta’s account he was very attentive to her in 
Heidelberg.” 


The Coffee Drinking. 


149 


I cannot see how he could have acted 
otherwise,” I replied. “ She is an old friend.” 

“Yes, but I think there is more than friend- 
ship. At least Frau Herrmann would like it 
if there were. See how she manages it so that 
they may be left alone together ! She is a 
deep woman. If he does not marry Marga- 
retta there will be trouble with his mother, and 
that is no small thing.” 

“ He will probably do as his mother wishes,” 
I said. I was obliged to say something. 

“ I don’t know about that ; Gottfried in- 
herits a good deal of his mother’s disposition, 
and I fancy will do exactly as he pleases.” 

“ Margaretta is a handsome woman.” 

“ Yes. She is lovely,” replied Elizabeth, 
“ and her father is said to have more money 
than ever. Margaretta dresses elegantly, and 
they live in fine style. I think Frau Herrmann 
really likes her ; but, of course, she likes the 
money, too.” 

We were walking around among the flower 
beds. Professor Herrmann took great care of 
his garden, and it repaid him well, for it was 
beautiful. Near us was a row of rose trees in 
full bloom, from which the heavy pink blos- 
soms drooped, as if they could not hold up 
their heads, so weighted with beauty and 


150 


Schwester Anna. 


fragrance. It was a fancy with the professor 
to train his cherry and apple trees in all sorts 
of odd shapes. Some clambered up trellises, 
some looked like umbrellas, and others were 
great bouquets of green leaves. Other friends 
joined us, but we saw nothing of Gottfried and 
Margaretta. As it grew toward supper time I 
went to find my mother, and to my astonish- 
ment saw her conversing with Gottfried. She 
rose when she saw me coming and said : “ Ach ! 
yes, daughter, it is late; we must be going. 
Shall we see you at our home, Gottfried? You 
will be home this summer, I suppose? ” 

“Yes, I shall not begin business until next 
fall. I shall take this summer for rest after 
my violent efforts to pass my examinations. 
If it is convenient, Frau Lufft, I will call upon 
you to-morrow evening.’/ 

Before mother could reply the voice of Frau 
Herrmann broke in, “ Be careful, my son, not 
to make too many engagements.” She whis- 
pered something to him, of which I heard 
“ Margaretta ” and “ walk.” 

“That’s all right, mother. That can be 
arranged. Then I shall see you to-morrow 
evening, Frau Lufft.” 

“ We shall be very much pleased, Gottfried,” 
replied my mother. 


151 


The Coffee Drinking. 

We said ‘‘good evening,” and thanked Frau 
Herrmann for her kindness. I saw that she was 
very much annoyed; but I saw, too, what 
Elizabeth had said, that Gottfried would do 
just about what he pleased. We sat around 
the table in the summerhouse a long time 
that night, telling father all about the after- 
noon. 

“Frau Herrmann told us to-day that Gott- 
fried and Margaretta are as good as betrothed,” 
said my mother. “ It is evidently the dearest 
wish of his mother.” 

“ I think Gottfried knows more about that 
matter than his mother does,” laughed father. 
“ I think that the young man will make his 
own choice.” 

“ He pays her marked attention,” replied 
mother. 

“ How can he help it, since his mother 
throws him constantly in her society? A man 
must be polite. I wonder if Frau Herrmann 
would be so fixed on this marriage if she knew 
as much as I do about Herr Schmidt’s financial 
condition.” 

“ He is a very rich man, is he not, father?” 
I asked. 

“ He is living beyond his means, Liebchen. 
I know it, though thou must not repeat it. I 


152 


Schwester Anna. 


myself have loaned him two thousand marks 
this very week.” 

** Is it so ? ” exclaimed mother. ** Is it safe 
for thee to do so, Hans? ” 

“ The security is all right. Do not mention 
it, Anna. I need not warn thy mother.” 

I promised never to speak of it. As I sat in 
the twilight I thought it all over. How con- 
fused things were in this world ! Only God 
could straighten them out; it was impossible 
for us to do so. I was not troubled about 
Gottfried’s marriage. If he wished to marry 
Margaretta I should be glad to see him happy. 
But he had said that he would never marry 
her. His mother would urge him to it. Ach ! 
with what a mixture of threads our lives are 
woven ! If we use one the pattern is of one 
design ; if another thread is woven in the en- 
tire fabric is changed. Sometimes the threads 
seem to get all tangled together, and then it 
takes a stronger, wiser hand than ours to bring 
them again into proper harmony. 

‘‘What a sigh, Anna!” said my mother. 
“ Go to bed, child, thou art tired. But do not 
forget to lay thy new muslin dress out care- 
fully on the spare bed, that it may not get 
wrinkled.” 


In Front of the Fire. 


153 


CHAPTER XV. 

In Front of the Fire* 
OTTFRIED came to see us the next 



Vj night. That was the beginning of it. 
From that time on I had no reason to say that 
he forgot his old friends. We had delightful 
talks on the summer afternoons, when mother 
and I were sitting with our work. Now that 
I was a young lady it was not proper, accord- 
ing to our German etiquette, for me to wander 
off on long walks with this tall young man, or 
even to sit in the willow tree where we had 
once passed so many delightful hours. We 
had almost to renew our acquaintance, for we 
had seen little of each other in the past four 
years. I found that my childish playmate had 
developed in many ways. He was a very in- 
teresting and entertaining companion. 

In the evenings, as September came, it was 
too cool for us all to sit in the summerhouse ; 
my father and mother were growing visibly 
older and were very susceptible to the night air. 
When the nights grew more frosty we sat around 
our glowing wood fire in the broad hallway. 
My piano had been brought out there in order 
that father might enjoy the music as he leaned 


154 


Schwester Anna. 


back in his old chair and smoked his long pipe, 
sometimes reading the last newspaper from 
Berlin, but more often shutting his eyes to 
listen to the singing. 

Gottfried came in nearly every evening about 
eight o’clock, after they had finished supper 
over at our neighbor’s, and sat by father’s side. 
Sometimes he would ask permission of mother 
and me and would smoke to keep father com- 
pany. I sang the songs I had learned in Ber- 
lin, and surely never girl had a more attentive 
audience. When I had finished playing Gott- 
fried would often come to the piano to sing 
some of the gay students’ songs which he had 
learned in Heidelberg. 

“Ach! but it needs the clink of the glasses 
to bring out the full beauty of these songs,” he 
said, laughing. “They lack the proper spice 
when they are sung quietly in a room like 
this.” 

“ Do you know, Gottfried, our little girl, 
there, is become a total abstainer since she 
joined the Methodists? Do you notice the 
little blue and silver cross hidden among the 
lace of her dress?” My father called me to 
him and drew out the pin which the members 
of the “ Blue Cross Society ” wear. 

“ Is that one of the characteristics of the 


In Front of the Fire. 


155 


Methodists? ” asked Gottfried. “Well, I think, 
on the whole, it is a good idea, although it seems 
to me that some people carry it to an extreme. 
If you had seen all that I have seen at the 
* Kneipe ' of our fraternities, Herr Lufft, you 
would agree with me that there is need of some 
organization to stop this excess in drinking.” 

“ I have seen enough of it even in our quiet 
town, Gottfried, to make me urge moderation, 
if not entire abstinence.” 

“ Did you not drink, too, at the ‘ Kneipe,’ 
Gottfried ? ” inquired mother, looking over her 
spectacles at him. 

“ O, of course I drank some beer with the 
rest of the fellows, as every good German does, 
but I did not make a beast of myself like some 
of them did. Are all the Methodists total ab- 
stainers, Anna ? ” 

“ The sentiment is growing in Germany, and 
our society has many members ; but in Amer- 
ica none of the Methodists use either beer or 
wine.” 

“ I believe it is a good thing,” said Gottfried, 
emphatically. “If we Germans are not careful 
we shall be as bad as the English soon. A 
fellow in Heidelberg told me that he had seen 
women drunk on the street in London, and 
that once he saw two women fighting and pull- 


156 


Schwester Anna. 


ing each other’s hair out, each one holding an 
innocent baby in her arms.” 

“ That is a horrible state of things,” said my 
mother. “ I hope it will never come to that in 
our Fatherland.” 

“Well, I must retire now,” said father. “I 
feel unusually tired. Wilt thou come with me 
a few minutes, mother? I should like to talk 
over with thee some business matters.” He 
kissed me affectionately, said “ Gute Nacht ” 
to Gottfried, who wished him a good rest, and 
went slowly up the winding staircase. 

I was quite troubled about my father’s health 
in those days. He did not seem so strong as 
he had been, required more rest and sleep, and 
left more of his business cares to his younger 
partner, Herr Preston. I noticed that mother 
watched him anxiously, although, as yet, she 
had not mentioned it to me. 

As my parents left the hall I got up and 
placed a fresh stick on the fire, which burst out 
into a bright flame of blue and gold. Then 
I sat down in mother’s chair. The candles 
in the old silver candlesticks cast a mellow 
light on my knitting, but left my face in the 
shadow ; the clock ticked solemnly. Gottfried 
laid down his cigar and looked at the fire. 
The little tongues of flame were running back 


In Front of the Fire. 157 

and forth on the stick of wood which I had 
brought. 

We sat a long time in silence. Then Gott- 
fried said, ‘‘Anna, you have never asked me 
anything about my life in Heidelberg during 
the four years at the university.” 

“ I thought you would tell me of it when 
you wished, Gottfried.” 

“ What a patient woman you are ! ” 

“ No, I am not patient,” I responded, laugh- 
ing. “ You do not understand me.” 

“And I fear you have not entirely under- 
stood me during these years, have you ? ” 

“ Sometimes I wondered if you were the 
same Gottfried you were years ago.” 

“Just the same. But I had a reason for act- 
ing as I did. Anna, I want to tell you one 
thing. I did not work very hard in the univer- 
sity, although I passed the examinations cred- 
itably enough. I was in nearly every foolish 
prank that the fellows had on hand. But I 
want you to know one thing, and you will be- 
lieve me, won’t you ? ” 

“ I will believe every word you tell me,” I 
said, looking up into the frank blue eyes be- 
neath the broad forehead on which the candle- 
light was shining. 

“ However foolish I may have been I never 


158 


Sch wester Anna. 


did a wicked or base thing while I was there. 
I must acknowledge that I was tempted more 
than once to do as the other fellows did, but 
the thought of your sweet face stopped me. I 
would not have you ashamed of me.” 

I said nothing, but my heart was glad and 
happy. 

“ I have thought many times that it was thy 
prayers, my * Liebchen,’ that kept me from the 
evil.” He had left his big chair and was sitting 
now on my little old stool, close by my feet. 
The candlelight was glorifying his bright curls. 
“ Dost thou not know, Anna, how I have loved 
thee ? I have loved thee so many years — ever 
since those days when thou wast almost a baby. 
Through all these years my one thought has 
been to act so that thou wouldst love me and 
be proud of me. Dost thou not love me, my 
darling? Tell me quickly!” 

My knitting had fallen from my trembling 
hands. Was I worthy of this great joy? He 
took both my hands in his big, strong ones. 

“ Thou wearest my little ring, Anna. Thou 
hast not forgotten me. Say that thou wilt be 
my wife when I have made a home for us both ! ” 

I looked up at him and smiled. 

“ I know thou lovest me,” he cried, joyously. 

“ I have loved thee ever since I can remem- 


In Front of the Fire. 


159 


her,” I replied. I felt no shame in telling him. 
We belonged to each other. 

** My darling ! my darling ! ” he exclaimed, and 
in an instant his strong arms were about me 
and I felt his warm kisses on my face. 

“ Let me go ! ” I cried. “ Thou hast not yet 
asked father; perhaps he may object.” 

“ I will ask him to-morrow morning, just as 
early as possible. I know thy father will con- 
sent, if it is for thy happiness. Well, if I may 
not kiss thee again, sweetheart, I may at least 
sit on this low stool at thy feet and hold thy 
soft hand in mine. Ach ! the days in Heidel- 
berg when I have dreamed of this night, when 
I could tell thee that I loved thee ! ” He 
sighed with happiness. 

“ But why didst thou neglect me so during 
all this time, my Gottfried ? ” I asked. “ Why 
didst thou pay so much attention to Mar- 
garetta ? ” 

“ I could not help the last, my Anna, for 
mother placed me in such a position that I 
must be polite to her. I swear to thee, sweet- 
heart, that I never said one word to her which 
I could not have uttered in thy presence. I 
have never said a word of love to any other 
woman.” 

I am very glad,” I said, contentedly. 


160 


Schwester Anna. 


** The reason I have kept away from thee is 
this: I knew that my mother wished me to 
marry Margaretta. For some reason she has 
taken a great fancy to her. While I tried not 
to deceive her I knew that if I kept on coming 
to see thee it would only arouse decided oppo- 
sition on the part of my mother, and might 
break up all my cherished hopes. It was wiser 
to wait until I had finished my university course 
and was independent. But O, how I have 
longed for thee, sweetheart! How I have 
grieved when I saw that thou feltest that thine 
old friend neglected thee!” 

I scarcely heard the last, for I had just 
thought of Frau Herrmann. She had never 
liked me. I would never marry Gottfried un- 
less his parents were willing. I could not bear 
to make a breach between the mother and son. 
“ Ach ! thy mother, Gottfried ! I had forgotten 
her. She will never consent to our marriage,” 
I said. 

“ No, I do not think she ever will,” he replied. 

“ But thou wouldst surely not marry me 
without her consent.” 

“ Indeed I should. Are we not made for 
each other? Did not God bring us together? 
It says in the Bible that ‘ a man shall leave 
father and mother and cleave unto his wife.’ ” 


In Front of the Fire. 


161 


But it does not mean in that way. I will 
never marry thee if thy mother is not willing.” 

Well, perhaps she will be, darling. Do not 
let us spoil our first evening by talking of such 
unpleasant matters. Come, let us plan our 
future ! ” 

I felt very uneasy, but let him have his 
way. He told me of his plans. A friend of 
his father would receive him into his office in 
Berlin. He would have a good position and 
would soon be able to marry. A lawyer’s busi- 
ness is very profitable in our country. 

Thou shalt not be long a * Braut,’ my sweet- 
heart. I will soon give thee another ring for 
thy turquoise.” 

“ I will always wear this one, Gottfried.” 

Mother came down the stairs. 

Thou must speak to father first,” I said, 
hastily. “ I shall tell my mother after thou art 
gone.” 

Gottfried rose from his low seat before 
mother came around the curve, which brought 
us in her view. 

Well, Stiefmutterchen,” he said, calling 
mother by the old name of his boyhood, I 
must go.” 

** Good night, Gottfried. Anna, thou hast 

allowed the fire to get very low. I was detained 
11 


162 


Schwester Anna. 


so long with father that I quite neglected thee. 
You must excuse me, Gottfried.” 

“ Do not mention it, dear Frau Lufft.” The 
wicked boy laughed at me. “ Good night, 
both,” he said, and went away. 

Mother and I had such a good talk that night. 
I told her all about it as I sat at her feet with 
my head resting on her knees. She sympa- 
thized fully with me and rejoiced in my happi- 
ness. “ But, my child,” she said, “ thou must 
remember that nothing is settled. I will talk 
with thy father in the morning. He is sleeping 
quietly now, and I will not disturb him.” 

I could not sleep much. I felt very anxious 
about what Frau Herrmann would say. I did 
not feel afraid of the Herr Professor, for he 
was a mild and gracious gentleman ; but I knew 
his wife would make serious objection. Then 
what would be the outcome? In the midst of 
my thoughts ran the undercurrent of joy. Gott- 
fried loved me. No matter what came we be- 
longed to each other. Still I was firm in my 
conviction ; I would never marry him if his 
mother was not ready to give her consent. 


The Separation. 


163 


CHAPTER XVL 
The Separation. 

I T turned out exactly as I had feared. Gott- 
fried came to our house to see my father 
directly after his coffee the next morning. For 
a long time they talked together in father’s 
room. • Then my mother was called in. After 
an hour I heard her footsteps coming toward 
the summer house where I was sitting sewing. 
She kissed me gently, and said : “ My darling 
daughter, I am so happy for thee. Gottfried 
is worthy of thy love and I shall find in him a 
son, I know. Thy father wishes to see thee in 
his room.” 

Come with me, mother dear, please,” and 
we went in together. 

I found my handsome lover standing near 
my father. He came and took my hand, look- 
ing down lovingly into my eyes. 

“ Good morning, my Anna. Thou art as 
fresh as a June rose this morning.” I saw that 
there was a shadow on his face. He led me to 
father. “ Here she is, sir.” 

“Anna,” said father, “I understand that 
thou and Gottfried love each other dearly, and 
he wishes to make thee his wife. It will grieve 


164 


Schwester Anna. 


us much to have thee leave us, but we wish 
only thy happiness. Art thou sure that thou 
lovest Gottfried enough to be his wife ? Is it 
not a girlish fancy? ” 

“ No, father. I have loved him all my life.” 

My father kissed me and smoothed back my 
hair in his old way. “ She is our treasure, 
Gottfried,'' he said, brokenly. ‘'Thou art ask- 
ing a great deal of us. She is all we have.” 

“I know it, Herr Lufft,” replied Gottfried, 
putting his arm around me and drawing me 
close to him. 

“ I have told Gottfried, my daughter, that I 
will consent to thy marriage on condition that 
there is no opposition from his parents. We 
cannot allow our child to enter a family where 
she is not cordially welcomed,” father said, 
drawing himself up proudly. 

Gottfried looked troubled. “ I will speak to 
them at once, Herr Lufft. My father will, I 
know, consent gladly to it. My mother may 
be less easy to win, as she has had other plans 
for me ; but I am sure that in time she will love 
Anna as her own daughter.” 

“ Thou must find out about it before we set- 
tle the matter. I am sure I have expressed thine 
opinion, Anna. Thou wouldst not become be- 
trothed to Gottfried if his mother opposes?” 


The Separation. 


165 


“ No, father. I told Gottfried so last night.” 
I felt his arm tremble. 

“ You surely do not mean, Herr Lufft, that 
my mother’s objection to the marriage would 
cause you, too, to withhold your consent ? ” 
he said, piteously. 

“Yes, my boy. I should regret it greatly; 
but we cannot allow Anna to betroth herself to 
thee unless thy mother is satisfied.” 

“ I will return this afternoon,” said Gott- 
fried, after a moment. “ I am sure that mother 
will not oppose me. Good morning, Herr 
Lufft. Thank you for your kindness to me. 
Adieu, my Anna, I shall see thee this after- 
noon.” He hurried away. 

My father and mother looked very grave all 
day, and I felt a heavy weight upon my spirits. 
We all knew Frau Herrmann’s proud and un- 
yielding disposition. There was little hope. 

About four o’clock that afternoon, as I was 
sitting by the window of my room, trying to 
read, I saw Gottfried’s tall figure coming across 
the garden, through the hedge, and up our 
gravel path to the house. He walked very 
slowly and seemed to be thinking deeply. I 
knew then that our hopes would never be real- 
ized. He did not need to tell me. Mother left 
us alone by the hall fire, and we sat as we had 


166 


Schwester Anna. 


sat the night before, he on the low stool at my 
feet. 

We remained quiet for a long time. Then I 
said, Well, Gottfried.” 

“ O, Anna, I cannot bear to talk of it ! 
When I told my father of my great happiness 
he congratulated me and wished me joy. I 
turned to my mother. Her face was perfectly 
white, and her eyes blazed with anger. I had 
never seen her thus but once before, when one 
of my brothers angered her greatly. ‘ Mother, 
wilt thou not wish me joy ? ’ I said. ‘ I will 
never wish thee joy ! ' she screamed. ‘ I will 
never welcome a woman who is a member of 
that low sect of Methodists.’ O, Anna, I can- 
not tell thee all she said. It was terrible. I 
never thought that my mother could talk so. 
When she stopped for breath I said — for I was 
angry too — ‘I love Fraiilein Lufft. She is a 
refined and beautiful woman. I intend to 
make her my wife.’ ‘ If thou dost I will never 
call thee my son again. Thou shalt be to 
me as dead,’ she said. ‘ Never again will I 
kiss thee. Ach ! Gottfried,’ she continued,'! 
feared this when thou didst go so much to that 
printer’s house. I tried to prevent it. Why 
wilt thou not do as I wish? Margaret ta loves 
thee, I am sure. She is beautiful. Her father 


The Separation. 


167 


has wealth. My son, do as thy mother wishes !’ 
The tears were running down her cheeks. ‘ I 
cannot, mother,’ I replied. ‘ I love Anna, but 
I do not love Margaretta.’ ‘ Then thou art no 
son of mine,’ she cried, angrily. ‘ Go thy way 
and we will go ours,’ and she left us.” 

Did thy father say anything more ? ” I 
asked. 

“ Yes, he turned and took my hand. ‘ My 
son,’ he said, ‘ personally I have no objection to 
the young lady whom thou hast chosen, but so 
long as thy mother feels this way about it I 
cannot give my consent.’ I know he sympa- 
thizes with me, but will not go against mother’s 
wishes.” 

“ It is all settled now,” I said, calmly, after a 
pause in which he sat looking at me and press- 
ing my hand against his cheek. “ I cannot be 
thy wife unless thy mother withdraws her op- 
position.” 

O ! do not say that ! ” he begged. ** We 
could be so happy. If thou sayest that what 
shall I do ? My dreams of life have always been 
to work for thee, to live with thee, my comfort. 
I could make thee so happy. What shall I 
do ? What shall I do ? ” And the young man 
sobbed aloud. 

Be my own true lover always, my Gott- 


168 


Schwester Anna. 


fried,” I said, smoothing his soft hair. Be a 
man. God will help us. If our lives must go 
on in different directions we can, at least, serve 
him.” 

“ But it is so hard, so hard ! ” 

“ It is very, very hard, Gottfried,” and my 
tears commenced to flow. “ But it is not right 
that I should separate thee from thy mother. 
God’s blessing would not rest upon us, and 
what, then, should we do ? ” 

We talked a longtime, until we both became 
quiet and comparatively resigned. Then Gott- 
fried went away. 

After that afternoon we never talked together 
again. My father thought it best that there 
should be no communication between us, and 
I saw him only at a distance. If we could not 
be betrothed we must separate entirely. 

I cannot write of those long, weary days. 
There is no use in living the suffering over 
again. I am resigned, and my heart rests con- 
tentedly on my Saviour ; but it was a bitter 
sacrifice for me to give up all hopes of love. 
Father and mother were so good and kind to 
me. It was almost pitiful to see how they 
tried to entertain me ; how mother cooked 
dainty dishes to tempt my appetite. When 
the first bitterness was passed my thoughts 


The Separation. 


169 


turned to the dear parents who were so self- 
sacrificing, and I grew calm and peaceful in 
ministering to their comfort. 

One morning, early, I saw a great bustle 
over at Professor Herrmann’s. Several travel- 
ing bags and boxes were brought out and piled 
in a cab, which was waiting in front of the 
door. I saw the professor and his wife come 
out with Gottfried, who wore a large traveling 
cloak, for the days were now quite cold. It 
was in November. Gottfried kissed his father 
and mother, and stood talking with them for a 
moment; then he entered the carriage, raised his 
hat to his parents, and was driven rapidly away* 

As the carriage passed our house I saw him 
look earnestly at it, but he did not see me, for 
I was hidden behind the curtain. Where could 
he be going ? Probably to Berlin to begin his 
law business with his father’s friend. Ach ! 
life is hard ! Would things ever come right ? 
I have never seen my bright-faced boy since 
that morning when I caught his earnest glance. 

It was on Monday that he went away. The 
next Wednesday my father brought me a letter 
bearing the postmark “ Bremen.” The writing 
was Gottfried’s. The letter is now worn and 
wrinkled, but it is my dearest treasure. This 
is what he said : 


170 


Schwester Anna. 


Bremen, November 12. 

“ My Own Darling : 

“ Surely there is no harm in my writing thee 
a letter before I leave my Fatherland. Thou 
didst not know — no one knew — that I intended 
to go to America until the night before I left 
Wittenberg. Then I told my father and mother. 
They felt very sad, but my mother said : ‘ Thou 
wilt return from America, but thy marriage I 
could never endure. In America thou wilt for- 
get all about the girl who has spoiled thy life.’ 
My mother does not know her son, Anna. 

I thought the matter over carefully before 
deciding to go away. I could not live near 
thee and not see thee and talk with thee. It is 
impossible. I long for thee constantly. In 
the new country there is a chance for all, and 
if I work hard I shall surely succeed. I am not 
going out recklessly. The gentleman in Ber- 
lin, with whom I was to have been associated, 
has given me introductory letters to a friend 
of his, a lawyer in New York, and I hope to 
find an opening there. 

“ I thought, at first, when thou gavest me 
up that I did not care whether I ever did any- 
thing or not. Then I remembered what thou 
saidst, that I must be a man, and I would have 
thy respect as well as thy love. Thou hast not 


The Separation. 


171 


forgotten, sweetheart, our last afternoon to- 
gether. Thou rememberest our vows. Thou 
wilt be true to me, and I will be true to thee 
as long as we live. If God ever brings us to- 
gether again how happy we shall be. If not, 
we will live right anyway. Thou must never 
doubt me. Thou wilt hear from me, doubtless, 
through my mother. I am writing on board the 
steamship Elbe, which I chose in memory of 
our happy days on the river bank. 

“ Auf wiedersehen, my darling. Thine faith- 
fully, in life or death, GOTTFRIED.” 

I have never heard from him since. Frau 
Herrmann has been almost our enemy. We 
have not had any opportunity to ask where he 
is or what he is doing. I know that he lives, 
and that is all. 

After I received his letter I did not swoon, 
as do the girls in novels when their lovers go 
away. I sat very still for a long time ; then I 
knelt down and prayed. Peace came to my 
heart. I would live for God and my parents. 
It would have been a comfort to me to see 
Gottfried’s face occasionally, to hear his voice, 
even at a distance ; but since it was not to be 
I must be content. 

I have tried to write thus calmly of our 


172 


Schwester Anna. 


parting. It is needless to tell of my sad hours, 
of my loneliness and grief. Human hearts are 
weak. It is all past now. My lifework is be- 
fore me, and I am happy in it. But in my 
heart there is still a holy place, there is still a 
deep love for Gottfried, and I wait until that 
day shall come when I shall see him again. 
He is true and faithful ; we shall meet, if not 
in this world, then in the world to come. 


A New Work. 


173 


CHAPTER XVIL 


A New Wofk< 



'HE next year I spent at home. It was in 


1 many ways a happy one. Our home life 
was delightful, and I felt that I was a comfort 
to my parents. But, nevertheless, I was rest- 
less, and I longed to get out into the world, to 
work and lead a more active life. I never said 
a word about this, and was much surprised 
when my mother said to me the fall after Gott- 
fried left us : “ My child, thou must have a 
change. Thou art growing thin and pale. It 
is all very well for us old people to live here in 
this quiet way, but for young persons it is too 
dull. Thy father agrees with me, and he wishes 
me to ask thee what thou wouldst like to 
choose for thy lifework. We shall be quite 
content with thy decision.” 

“ Do mothers know even the hearts of their 
children ? ” I asked, as I knelt down and leaned 
against her shoulder. 

“ Mothers have been young themselves, 
dear,” she answered, as she stroked my head 
with her soft hand. “ Everyone needs an aim 
in life, and now that thou wilt not marry thou 


174 


Schwester Anna. 


must devote thyself to the thing in which thou 
art most interested.” 

“ I will take care of thee and father. That 
is work enough for any girl, and delightful 
work too.” 

“ But thou longest to be out in the busy 
world, Anna. I can see it, although thou art 
the most devoted daughter that ever parents 
were blessed with. Tell me what thou wish- 
est, child. What wouldst thou do if we were 
not here ? ” 

I think, mother dear, if I felt no ties to 
bind me I should choose to be a deaconess. 
It is such a beautiful work,” I said, warming to 
my subject, “ to care for the sick and dying, to 
cheer and comfort the poor and helpless, and 
then, as opportunity offers, to tell them the 
sweet story of Jesus, and how he died for them. 
But do not tempt me, mother. God has 
placed my duty plainly before me, and it is my 
deepest joy to love and cheer thee and father.” 

“ I do not doubt that,” said the mother, lov- 
ingly. “ But there are many things to be con- 
sidered. We are not old people yet, and now 
that thy father has given his business entire- 
ly into the hands of his partner, he may live 
many years. I see no reason why thou shouldst 
not go to thy chosen work. If thou wast a 


A New Work. 175 

boy thine occupation would be outside of the 
home.” 

‘‘ Thou dost always forget thyself, mother.” 

“ Why should I not, when the happiness of 
my daughter is at stake? We will talk of this 
again, Anna.” 

We did talk of it again — father, mother, and 
I — and I saw that they were quite determined 
that I should follow my own inclinations. I 
did not want to go away from home, but felt 
more and more drawn to the deaconess work. 
Besides, I felt it necessary to take my mind off 
of my Wittenberg experiences of the last few 
years. I must interest myself in the griefs and 
wrongs of others and forget my own sadness. 
I was not absolutely needed at home, and I 
should never be very far away. 

After much meditation and prayer I wrote a 
letter to Schwester Lena, in Berlin, telling her 
of the situation and asking her advice. She 
answered immediately, saying that she would 
not have me neglect my duty to my parents in 
any way, but if they were willing, and I felt a 
call to the deaconess work, they would be 
happy to welcome me. “ Thou must write to 
the inspector of our Bethanien Verein, and he 
will tell thee what to do,” she wrote. I did so, 
and after various formalities were gone through 


176 


Schwester Anna. 


with I was allowed to enter on trial the 
Society of Bethany, as we are called through- 
out Germany and Switzerland. 

I think, in those last days, that my mother 
began to feel that I was really going away from 
her. I felt very sad as the time drew near 
when I must leave ; if it had been for any 
other object than work for God I should not 
have felt right about going. Mother arranged 
all my clothes, packed my trunk herself, and 
bade me farewell without a falter. Father, too, 
was very brave, but I broke down entirely. “ I 
will be back soon, father and mother,” I cried, 
I must see you again soon.” 

We are not going to grieve for thee, 
daughter,” the mother said, cheerfully. “We 
expect great things of thee. Thou must do 
thy best.” 

At last I was off, and had taken a lingering 
look at the old house. I went first to Berlin, 
where I was received into the Church in full 
connection. I had been on probation more 
than a year, and, under ordinary circumstances, 
would not have been allowed to join the Beth- 
anien Verein, but the facts had been explained 
to the inspector, and he made an exception in 
this case. 

While in Berlin I met Schwester Lena again. 


A New Work. 


177 


She was even more interested in* me than be- 
fore, and she had always been more than kind 
to me. In her little room most of my story 
came out, almost without my wish. I could 
scarcely help telling her, she was such a moth- 
erly woman. She sympathized with me, but 
thought that it would all come out right. 

“ Thou must be thankful that he is a good 
man, and that he is still living. There is a sort 
of invisible tie between persons who love each 
other dearly. It is felt between mother and 
daughters, and more often between husbands 
and wives. I have never told thee, my child, 
that I, too, loved once. I was married,’' she 
continued, as I murmured my surprise. “ It 
was only for three months, and then he was 
taken from me by death. O, how sad I was ! 
But God doeth all things well.” The tears 
rolled down my cheeks. I felt so sorry for 
this gray-haired woman, whose romance was so 
short-lived. 

I had been a deaconess before my marriage, 
and I came back to the society after Johann 
died. It has been a great blessing to me — ' 
this work for my Saviour.” 

“ And you have been a blessing to it, 
Schwester Lena.” 

I trust so, child, though my efforts have 
12 


178 


Schwester Anna. 


been feeble. It will not be long now before 
I must give up active labor. My strength is 
not what it was. May the Lord bless thee, 
my dear, and make thee a comfort to many 
souls ! ” 

My Cousin Bertha I found comfortably set- 
tled in a pleasant home, and very happy with 
her kind husband and sweet baby. They called 
the little maiden “ Anna,” a great compliment 
to me. My dear Aunt Katharina was very 
happy, vibrating between the two homes, and 
living her youth over again, while helping 
Bertha to bring up her baby in the proper way. 

As my duties were to begin at Frankfort-on- 
the-Main, where the “ Mother-House ” of our 
society is, I left Berlin as soon as possible, and 
reached my new home the same night. As the 
train bore me farther and farther from my be- 
loved parents an almost overwhelming feeling 
of sadness came over me. My heart was often 
lifted to God during that ten hours’ journey that 
he might strengthen and help me, and he did. 
My mind grew calm, and I was able to interest 
myself in what was outside of the car window. 
The country was different from our northern 
landscapes. We passed into the beautiful 
Thuringian Mountains, past Weimar, where 
rest the bodies of our great poets, Goethe and 


A New Work. 


179 


Schiller ; past Eisenach, where, looking down 
upon the quiet village, rise the towers of 
Castle Wartburg. It was in this old fortress 
that Martin Luther translated for us the New 
Testament. On, on we went, until the sun 
went down, and a veil of darkness shut out 
the rapidly passing pictures of mountains, val- 
leys, villages, and lonely farmhouses. 

About eight o’clock we reached Frankfort 
and entered the large, handsome station. I 
expected to take a carriage to the Deaconess 
Home, never dreaming that Schwester Ida, 
who was the “ head sister,” would send anyone 
to meet me. Almost as soon as the carriage 
door was opened I saw two sweet-faced women 
in the deaconess dress looking earnestly at me 
as I gathered up my packages. 

‘‘I am sure that is she,” said the younger 
one, and, advancing toward me, the older 
woman asked, “ Is it Fraiilein Lufft ? ” 

“ Yes,” I replied. 

“ We are very glad to see thee, sister,” they 
said, each giving me hearty kisses on both 
cheeks. Let us take thy packages.” Before 
I could say a word they had taken possession 
of all my baggage except the trunk. 

Walking through the brightly lighted station 
we soon secured a “ droschke ; ” the trunk was 


180 


Schwester Anna. 


placed up in front by the driver, and we were 
rumbling along the city streets. The two 
deaconesses talked cheerfully, and by the time 
we arrived at the house I began to feel at home. 

“You are very kind to take so much trouble 
for me,” I began. 

“ It is no trouble at all, sister. But thou 
must say ‘thou’ to us. We are all sisters, 
members of one family.” 

We reached the house, of which I could see 
only a dim outline, and friendly hands drew 
me into the hallway. One after the other a 
dozen black-robed women came to welcome 
me. A comfortable supper was awaiting me 
in the dining room, and every effort was made 
to give me a home feeling. The head deacon- 
ess, an elderly woman with a fine face, attracted 
me very much. She welcomed me kindly, and 
soon after supper sent me to my room. Here 
I found everything spotlessly clean, but plain. 
There were three single beds draped in white. 

“ This is thy room, sister,” said the deacon- 
ess, one of those who had come to meet me. 
“ Thou must share it with two others, for thou 
art, of course, for the present, only a proba- 
tioner in our society. They are pleasant 
women, and thou wilt not find it uncomfortable.” 

“ What shall I call thee ? ” I asked. 


A New Work. 


181 


‘‘ I am Schwester Rosanna, ,and the young 
sister whom thou sawest with me is Schwester 
Barbara.” 

“ Thanks. Good night, Schwester Rosanna.” 

“ Good night, Schwester Anna. Schlaf wohl.” 

My boxes were all in the room, and I began 
to unpack them, bringing out, one after the 
other, the beautiful garments which mother’s 
dear hands had made for me. The homesick 
feeling of the day was all gone. I should love 
these good women, I knew. As I looked 
about the room I saw over my bed, in colored 
letters, a motto, and taking a candle I went up 
close to look at it. “Therefore will not I fear, 
though the earth be removed, and though the 
mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.” 

After committing my dear parents, Gott- 
fried, and myself into the divine keeping for that 
night and for all the future I went peacefully 
to sleep, and, being very tired, did not hear 
my roommates when they came to bed. 

I must hurry a little in my story, although I 
should like to linger over those peaceful days 
at the Deaconess Home. 

My work for the first few months was in the 
kitchen. There, fortunately, the mother’s 
good training came into use. The dainties to 
be made for the sick people upstairs were a 


182 


Schwester Anna. 


delight to me. I enjoyed concocting golden 
custards, transparent jellies, and other deli- 
cacies to tempt their poor appetites. The 
other deaconesses in the kitchen had not been 
so lucky as I, and it was not long before all 
of the finer, cooking was put in my hands. 
It seemed a trifle strange to me, at first, that 
this was deaconess work ; but we can do all to 
God’s glory. It was easy to see that it was 
just as necessary for the sick to have good, 
nourishing food as it was for them to have 
careful nursing. So I tried to do my best. It 
was very pleasant, too, to surprise the tired 
deaconesses with some tempting dish, and they 
were always grateful for it. 

It pays to do one’s work well, no matter 
what it is. It is certainly true of the deacon- 
ess work. In no other sphere is there more 
need of thorough consecration of hands, feet, 
body, and, above all, heart and soul. Many of 
our deaconesses are discouraged by the petty de- 
tails. They say, ‘‘ If this is all, I can do kitchen 
work at home.” This is not all, and even if it 
were our little efforts may be as helpful as the 
great deeds of others. I have found no time 
more blessed to me than those quiet months 
spent in the big, roomy kitchen of the Deacon- 
ess Home at Frankfort. 


In the Deaconess Home. 


183 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

In the Deaconess Home^ 

HERE were usually about twenty sick per- 



1 sons in the Deaconess Home. These were 
of three classes : those who paid good prices 
and occupied alone well-furnished rooms, those 
who could not pay so much and were placed in 
rooms with two other persons, and those who 
were supported gratuitously and were arranged 
in wards. I could see no difference in the 
quality of the nursing, whether the patient was 
rich or poor. 

During my pro-probationership I wore my 
ordinary clothes, but when I was allowed to be- 
come a probationer I bought for myself a cos- 
tume like that which the other deaconesses 
wore, with the exception of the cap, which had 
a narrow border instead of a broad one such as 
the full deaconesses wear. I remember well 
how odd I felt when I first donned the cap and 
dress. The cap was stiffly starched and cov- 
ered my hair entirely, except just in front. It 
felt very bungling and uncomfortable, and I was 
shy about going out into the street. This feel- 
ing soon wore away, and now I should not 
think my toilet complete without the headdress. 


184 


Schwester Anna. 


I was appointed one of the house nurses, and 
received a thorough training in all departments 
of the work, under the leadership of an older 
deaconess and the supervision and personal 
instruction of an experienced corps of phy- 
sicians. 

One day the nurse who assisted the doctor 
in the operating room was ill, and Schwester 
Ida sent for me to take her place. I was very 
nervous when I entered the large, well-lighted 
room. One end was entirely of glass, and 
everything was arranged to make this saddest, 
gloomiest of places comfortable. The doctor 
was waiting for me. He was a young man, 
not more than thirty-five, but was reputed to be 
one of the most skillful surgeons in the city. 

“ Well, sister,” he said, cheerfully, “ you 
must take Schwester Martha’s place to-day. 
Do not be afraid. You have only to hand me 
the instruments as I require them. Schwester 
Rosanna will attend to the more serious part.” 

“ I will do my best,” I said. 

But you must get more color in your cheeks, 
or I shall have you to attend to as well as my 
patient.” 

It was hard, but I tried to overcome the weak- 
ness, and after it was all over was complimented 
by our good doctor. 


In the Deaconess Home. 185 

Let Schwester Anna be trained for special 
service in the operating room,” he said after- 
ward to Schwester Ida. “ She is made of just 
the material we want. Her hand is steady and 
yet gentle.” 

So I was given the very last work that I could 
have desired. I rebelled in my heart against it. 
But can one choose her work for God ? Some 
one must do this, and if my hand is steady and 
my touch gentle, as our doctor said, perhaps 
I might be able to relieve the sufferings of 
some poor, feeble woman. I would do it. 

Day after day I assisted in this dreadful 
room, until it grew less terrifying to me. How 
many times I have pointed out to the trembling 
patient the motto painted on the wall in large 
letters, “ Fear not, for I am with thee ; be not 
afraid, for I am thy God ; " and on the opposite 
wall, “ Lo, I am with thee alway, even unto the 
end of the world.” 

With attending lectures on various topics 
connected with our profession, studying the 
Bible under the guidance of our inspector, who 
resided in Frankfort, and with active work in 
the sick room, the two years of my probation 
passed away quickly. Twice during that time 
I went home for a short visit. I found my 
father and mother a little older in appearance, 


186 


Schwester Anna. 


but otherwise all was the same. On my second 
visit my mother told me sad news. 

“Anna, hast thou heard of the misfortune 
which has befallen Herr Schmidt and his 
family? ” 

“ No, mother.” 

“ Thou knowest that Margaretta seemed to 
be very fond of our Gottfried. After he left 
she grew gayer and gayer, and since thou went- 
est away she has been very wild indeed. The 
company she kept was very displeasing to her 
father and mother, but their remonstrances 
did no good. Last week she ran away.” 

“ Ran away ! What for ? ” 

“ For no good, I fear, and for a sad life. 
She went with a young man to whom her 
father was bitterly opposed. H-e is very dissi- 
pated and cannot care for her in any way, but 
he is an unusually handsome fellow. They say 
the couple were married in Berlin.” 

“ How dreadful ! Poor Margaretta ! Where 
are they now ? ” 

“ No one knows. Herr Schmidt vows that 
he will never see her again. Ach, Anna ! 
How blessed we are in our daughter ! ” 

“ Even though she goes far away from thee, 
mother? ” 

“ Even so. She is doing a good work.” 


In the Deaconess Home. 187 

My letters from home are always bright and 
cheerful. Mother has a happy way of telling 
me the little things I want to know about home 
life. Though father’s letters are more general 
they are just as precious. Nothing has been 
heard of Margaretta. Poor girl ! What a mis- 
taken life hers has been ! 

I was very contented at Frankfort, and when 
the Sunday came when I should close my pro- 
bation and become a regular deaconess I felt 
very thankful that I had been found worthy of 
so great usefulness. At the annual meeting, 
held the week before, I had been approved. 

That Sunday we three women, who had 
shared the same room so peacefully during the 
two years, put on the broad-bordered cap of a 
deaconess. 

“ It makes me feel very good,” said Schwes- 
tor Luisa, “that we are at last to be conse- 
crated. See what a beautiful day it is ! ” She 
drew aside the curtain and we stood looking 
out upon the large garden behind our house. 
It was early in August, and bade fair to be a 
hot day. The sun was shining brightly, and 
the birds were singing sweetly. I do not be- 
lieve that there are any songsters in the world 
like these sweet singers of our Fatherland. 

It was our “festtag.” Several of the head 


188 


Schwester Anna. 


deaconesses from other cities, who had come 
to share our joy, were already in the house. 
We walked to church together, Schwester Luisa 
and I. We had grown to be dear friends. I 
remember we talked of the good we hoped to 
do. It is now two years since Schwester Luisa 
went home to heaven. Her work among us 
was short. 

In the church we sat all together in the front 
seats, a large group of white-capped women. 
Two of the hymns we sang alone. Our voices 
rose up tremulously at first, but we soon gained 
courage and sang with a will some of the 
hymns written especially for the Bethanien 
Verein. We sang so much together at home 
that our voices blended well. The inspector, a 
fine-looking, elderly man, preached a beautiful 
sermon ; it was very inspiring and elevating. 
Then we sisters went forward. The inspector 
asked us several questions, and we promised to 
be diligent, faithful, obedient. He blessed us 
and consecrated us to the office of a deaconess 
in the Methodist Episcopal Church. It was a 
very affecting service, but no part of it im- 
pressed me more than when the black-robed dea- 
conesses arose, came forward, and surrounded 
us, singingtheirhymn of welcome and of conse- 
cration. Their sweet voices ring in my ear now. 


In the Deaconess Home. 189 

All that day passed joyously. We had a 
“ fest dinner, a very great effort on the part 
of the cook. In the afternoon we had a meet- 
ing, and prayed and sang together. But the 
evening crowned the day. Our inspector and 
his pleasant “frau,” our pastor with his wife, 
several other invited guests, and all the deacon- 
esses surrounded a long table. Our sisters who 
were engaged in nursing in the city came home 
for this joyful occasion. All faces were happy. 
How we enjoyed that supper — the veal and po- 
tatoes, the rice balls and salad, the pudding of 
golden cream with a. froth of egg on the top, 
accompanied by preserved fruit, and finally the 
great “ kranzkuchen — nut cakes in the form 
of wreaths! 

After we had eaten the inspector said, “Sing, 
sisters 1 ” and we sang hymn after hymn. Our 
pastor led us in a devout prayer. We sat a 
long time around the table. Sometimes one 
deaconess or another would repeat a beautiful 
hymn or a verse of Scripture. The time came 
at last when we must separate; some to care 
for the sick in our own house, others to go far 
away into the city to watch at the bedside of 
the sick, or to cheer and comfort the dying in 
their last hours. Our guests wandered around 
the garden in the last dim glimmer of the twi- 


190 


Schwester Anna. 


light. The initiation was over. I was now a 
fully consecrated deaconess. 

There is little to tell of my three years in 
regular work. I was more or less confined to 
the routine work in our house, although I occa- 
sionally went outside. I remember one inci- 
dent. We had gone to bed, that is, those of 
us who were not night watchers, when our head 
sister came into the room. I am sorry to 
disturb you, sisters, but it is necessary. A man 
has come to say that there is a very sick 
woman down in the Altgasse. She is alone, 
and very poor. No, don’t get up all of you, 
only one is needed,” she added, laughing, for 
we were all ready to obey the call. “ Schwester 
Anna, thou canst go. Thou hast had little op- 
portunity for outside work.” 

I dressed quickly and went down to meet 
the man. He was evidently a workingman, 
and touched his forehead respectfully when I 
appeared. 

“ I am sorry to disturb your rest, Fraiilein,” 
he said. They told me I should find a good 
woman here who would come and help us in 
our trouble.” 

“What is the matter?” I inquired, as he led 
me through the dark streets. I was ashamed 
to acknowledge it, but I felt just a little afraid. 


In the Deaconess Home. 


191 


It was after midnight and the streets were 
quite deserted. 

“ It is my wife, Fraiilein. She was very ill 
two or three weeks ago, but there are so many 
of us, and there was no one to work, so that 
she had to get up too soon. This evening she 
was suddenly taken so very sick that I was 
much frightened. I am a night watchman at 
the perfume factory. I left my post a moment 
to see how she was. She looked like death and 
I had to find some one to stay with her. The 
big bulldog is at the factory, so that cannot 
come to any harm.” 

“ Did you have much trouble to find us?” 

“ No. A man in the house said that you 
sisters had been so kind to him in like trouble 
that I ventured to come directly to you.” 

“ I am glad you did,” I replied. 

“ Here we are ! ” he said, turning into a dark 
alleyway. We were in the very oldest part of 
the city. The stories of the black, weather- 
beaten houses overlapped each other, and the 
street was so narrow that the buildings almost 
touched near the top. We climbed up and up 
the steep stairs until my breath was almost 
gone. 

Opening the door for me, the man said : “ I 
cannot stop an instant. If they knew I had 


192 


Schwester Anna. 


left my work I should lose my place, and then 
we should all starve. I will be back early in 
the morning.” 

I heard the clatter of his heavy shoes as he 
ran down the stairs. Otherwise the house 
was still. The room was lighted by one poor 
candle. On the bed lay an unconscious wom- 
an ; near her was a month-old baby boy fast 
asleep. Several children of different ages were 
lying asleep on another bed and on the floor. 
As I looked at them I saw traces of tears, as if 
they had worn themselves out with weeping, 
not being able to arouse the mother. I cannot 
tell all that I did that night. All my knowl- 
edge of medicine was needed to care for the 
sick woman. It was bitterly cold and there 
was no fire, so I was obliged to keep warm 
as well as I could until daylight, for there was 
neither stick of wood nor bit of coal in the 
room. 

For a week I stayed with this afflicted fam- 
ily. I washed and entertained the children, of 
whom there were six, all under eight years of 
age. The mother improved with care and 
good, nourishing food, and I was able to leave 
her, although she still looked very frail and 
feeble. There were a good many opportunities 
in that week to tell the story of “ good news 


In the Deaconess Home. 193 

to men,” and I hope the dear Father allowed 
the precious seed to fall on good ground. 

Our work is not with the poor only. The 
rich people get sick and must have good nurs- 
ing, and they need the Gospel as much as the 
poor, although it is much harder to reach them. 
I have found hearts that ached bitterly under 
their coverlets of silk, who needed the precious 
balm of the Gospel as much as did the poor 
woman in her rags. 

We, of course, take no money for our labors ; 
our wants are supplied, we are provided with 
clothing and a small amount of pocket money, 
and need nothing ; but our rich friends are al- 
lowed to pay a reasonable sum for our services. 
This goes into the general fund and helps to 
support the society. We are not known as 
Methodists, but as the Society of Bethany, and 
as such are received into the homes of Luther- 
ans and members of other denominations. 

Yes, it is a good work, and I am happy in 
it ; but there is a sad side to it. About a year 
ago, when I was sitting by the bedside of a 
very sick man in the hospital, Schwester Ro- 
sanna came to me. “ Schwester Anna, Schwes- 
ter Ida wishes to see thee in the parlor.” 

Her face was grave, and I feared bad news. 
“ Tell me what it is ! ” I begged. 

13 


194 


Schwester Anna." 


“ I cannot. May God help thee, dear sister ! ” 

I trembled very much when I entered the 
parlor. Schwester Ida held a telegram in her 
hand. She came to me, put her arms around 
me, and said, “ I have sad news for thee, my 
child.” 

“ O, tell me quickly ! ” I cried. 

“ Thy father — ” 

“ Is he dead ? ” 

‘ No, not dead. But very ill. Read this.” 

I read it. “ Thy father is dangerously ill. 
Come at once,” signed by my mother. 

“ I must go,” I said, half dazed by the sud- 
den news. 

“Yes, thou must go. Schwester Rosanna 
has already packed thy bag. See ! Here she 
comes with it.” There she was in the door. 

The good women put on my bonnet ; they 
put me into a carriage, bought my ticket, and 
found me a seat in the train. I could not 
speak. My darling father ! O, that I might 
be permitted to see him once again, to look 
into his dear, kind eyes and tell him how much 
I love him ! It was permitted. My dear fa- 
ther lived two days after I reached home. I 
sat by his bedside and held his hand. He 
could not speak, but he looked his love. 

When he had gone from us mother and I sat 


In the Deaconess Home. 195 

a long time in silence. She leaned her head 
upon my shoulder. Thou art such a comfort 
to me, my daughter,” she said. 

After everything was over, and we had laid 
my father’s “ earthly house ” to rest in the old 
cemetery we talked it all over. I said that my 
duty was now to my mother. I would give up 
the deaconess work. 

“ No, my child. I do not wish it. Thou art 
not so very far away. I am very comfortable 
here, and I should prefer that thou shouldst 
continue in thy work.” 

She insisted, and so it was settled. My dear, 
good mother chooses to sacrifice herself, to 
live alone in the old home, while I labor here. 

Father left us a good income, so that I am 
not obliged to burden the society at all for my 
support, thus leaving enough to keep another 
deaconess at work. I am glad to be of that 
much help. 

Now, my story is almost done. For some 
reason, I do not know what, it seemed to be 
the judgment of Schwester Ida that I was 
tired out, and they have sent me to this quiet 
rest house at Neuenhain to recuperate. I do 
not feel so strong as before father’s death, for 
our work is a little taxing. But I shall be all 
right after a few weeks in this pure, clear air. 


196 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A Summer of Rest* 

Neuenhain, August 1 8. 

I T is now three months since I came here, and 
to-morrow I shall return to Frankfort. It 
is not often that our sisters are allowed such a 
long holiday ; but Schwester Ida seemed to 
think that I needed rest, and insisted on my 
remaining. The life has been a lazy one com- 
pared to the one I led last winter. It has done 
me great good. When I came I felt languid, 
depressed, discouraged ; now I feel young 
again, cheerful-hearted, and ready for work. 
What a magic effect sunshine and fresh air 
have upon the overstrained nerves ! 

A great favor has been granted me, that of 
having my darling mother with me. She has 
been here two weeks now, and will start on her 
homeward journey to-morrow, when I go. 
What a blessing her tranquil, peaceful pres- 
ence has been to us all ! The deaconesses all 
love her. There is not one of them who has 
not confided to her her hopes and purposes, her 
doubts and fears. To Schwester Bertha, who 
cannot live long, we fear, as she is gradually 


A Summer o£ Rest. 


197 


wasting away with consumption, she has been 
a great comfort. 

Fraiilein Krumm and mother have chatted 
together by the hour as they sat on the upper 
balcony enjoying the beautiful view and busy 
with their knitting. Poor Fraiilein Krumm’s 
crippled hands are a great hindrance to her, 
but she manages to knit a little every day. 

Even Frau Scharff, who was so shy and timid 
before the rest of us, has unbent to my sweet 
mother, and finds her companionship restful 
and consoling. Schwester Lena laughingly re- 
marked, the other night, that mother must join 
the Bethanien Verein ; she would be the most 
famous nurse among us. Mother replied that 
she would gladly do so were she twenty years 
younger. I have done the best I could for 
you,” she said, smiling, and laying her hand 
on me. '' I have given you my one treasure, 
my comfort, or, rather, I have given her to 
the Lord.” 

“ Amen,” responded Schwester Lena, softly ; 
“ no one could do more than give her all.” 

Our days have passed so pleasantly. It has 
been very, very dry, but that has given us 
pleasure-seekers bright, clear weather for excur- 
sions. There has not been a drop of rain since 
I came. All day long we have been in the 


198 


Schwester Anna. 


open air, carrying our work out into summer 
houses, or the chestnut woods, or sitting on the 
cool veranda. In front of the house, on the 
gravel, there is a fine place to play the Amer- 
ican game, croquet, which affords us much 
pleasure. 

Sometimes we took long walks up the hill, 
down through the valley beyond, and on up 
another mountain, from which Konigstein, a 
magnificent ruined castle, is visible. On an- 
other mountain stands Falkenstein, also a ruin, 
but not so extensive. Far off to the right rises 
the tower of Cronberg Castle, now the property 
of our young emperor’s mother, the Empress 
Frederick. Many legends made these ruins 
interesting. Of course their owners were at 
swords’ points with each other and fought 
bloody battles on these now silent and peace- 
ful hillsides. 

One day we walked with Schwester Bertha, 
who cannot go very far, up to the woods on 
the side of the mountain behind our house. 
There the dark pines moaned and sighed in 
the gentle breeze, and so thick were they that 
the sharp-pointed rays of sunlight could scarce- 
ly pierce their shade. There were benches 
along the edge of the forest, and we sat down 
to rest. After singing a few hymns we be- 


A Summer of Rest. 


199 


came quite silent, each one busy with her own 
thoughts. Suddenly we heard from the depths 
of the woods a liquid Cuckoo ! ” Then came 
an answering note, “ Cuck-oo ! Cuck-oo ! ” We 
listened, breathlessly, until the sounds grew 
fainter and fainter and finally died away in the 
depths of the dark pine shadows. 

The cherries have ripened and been gath- 
ered. Every day Schwester Amalie climbed 
the tall ladder and wrested the ruby fruit from 
the greedy birds who perched upon the upper 
limbs and scolded vigorously. At ten o’clock 
in the morning we had rich feasts of piles of 
luscious cherries, fresh bread, and glasses of 
warm, new milk. 

The cornflowers and poppies have blossomed 
and faded, and the sprays of golden-rod begin 
to be seen in the chestnut woods. 

Many deaconesses have been here for their 
vacation and have gone back to their work. 
To-morrow I, too, shall go away, and when 
shall I see my beloved Neuenhain again ? 
But I must not sigh. I fear I am growing lux- 
urious, and luxury is not for us deaconesses 
who have given ourselves to God’s work. 
There will be hard enough work to do this 
year, I fear. 

To-night, as we were all seated around the 


200 


Schwester Anna. 


supper table, Schwester Amalie came in late, 
much flushed and excited. She had been 
down to Soden to visit a member of our 
Church, and to do some errands. After say- 
ing “ Guten Abend ! and asking God’s bless- 
ing on her food, she exclaimed, Schwester 
Lena, thou dost not know the news I heard in 
Soden ! ” 

“ What was it, Schwester Amalie ? Thou 
lookest excited. Eat something first.” 

“ Dost thou remember, Schwester Anna,” 
continued Amalie, turning to me, the first 
Sunday thou wast here, when we were walking 
through the parched fields, how I predicted the 
cholera? And Schwester Lena called me a 
dark prophet,” she added, glancing rather tri- 
umphantly at the head of the table. 

“Yes, I remember,” I replied. 

“ Tell us quickly,” cried two or three other 
deaconesses. “Has the cholera come? Is it 
near here ? Where is it ? ” 

“ The cholera has come,” answered Schwes- 
ter Amalie, gravely. 

“ Ach ! ” exclaimed several voices. 

“ It broke out very suddenly in Hamburg 
yesterday. There were more than a hundred 
cases in one day. I knew it. I predicted it.” 

“ I have not had a moment to look at the 


A Summer of Rest. 


201 


Frankfurter Zeitung to-day,” said Schwester 
Lena, running to pick up the. newspaper from 
the table by the window, while we all left our 
supper and crowded around her. “Yes, here 
it is : ‘ Cholera in Hamburg. More than a 
hundred stricken. People leaving the city in 
crowds. Great excitement. Police regula- 
tions ! ’ Yes, poor Hamburg! The cholera 
has come.” 

We all stood perfectly quiet in dismay. The 
cholera, that fearful scourge ! We should be 
needed. Had we strength? “As thy days, 
so shall thy strength be 1 ” We should have 
strength given us to battle with this dread 
disease. Our sisters in Hamburg — how were 
they? We had a topic of thrilling interest 
during the entire meal. Would the cholera 
spread ? How could it be prevented with such 
close communication between our cities? 

Our prayer service was unusually solemn that 
night. Schwester Lena knelt down on her 
little stool by the dining room table, and, rais- 
ing her face to heaven, prayed that God might 
lift the dark cloud which hung over beau- 
tiful Hamburg ; that our Bethanien Verein 
might receive new grace for this severe work, 
and that strength might be given us for the 
duties required of us. 


202 


Schwester Anna. 


We felt very subdued as we gathered on the 
upper veranda and watched the purple twilight 
settling down over the distant villages. Mother 
and I sat side by side on the wicker settee. 
She held my hand tightly clasped in hers. I 
knew her thoughts. There would be some one 
needed to nurse these poor sick and dying 
men and women. Suppose I should be called ! 
For myself I was willing to go; it was right. 
I had vowed obedience, and I had given my 
soul and body to my heavenly Father for his 
service ; but it would be hard — O, so hard — to 
leave the mother to bear the pain and anxiety 
of waiting in her quiet home for news. 

^'Well,’’ said Amalie, it is just what I 
prophesied.” The dear sister seemed to take 
great comfort in the thought that, for once, 
her gloomy prediction had come true. 

“I know one thing,” remarked Paula, who 
had just come in, hot and tired from carrying 
many pails of water to refresh the thirsty 
garden, “if they need help in Hamburg I 
shall go.” 

“We may need help nearer home,” replied 
Amalia. 

We said, “ Good night ; sleep well,” and 
went to our rooms as the curfew bell rang out 
its signal clear and sharp on the evening air. 


A Summer of Rest. 


203 


It was very still and restful around Got- 
testreu.*’ Was it possible that only a few hun- 
dred miles away the nurses and doctors were 
hurrying anxiously to and fro? that the 
gloomy dead-wagons were bearing away the 
bodies of those who had loved ones to mourn 
them ? 

Mother and I had a long, quiet talk that 
night, during which I grew to know her better, 
to respect and admire still more the beauty of 
her character, to see that she was trying to re- 
flect the self-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice of 
her Master. 


204 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A Call for Help* 

Wittenberg, December 24. 

I T is a long time since I wrote in my little 
book. Here I am again at home. I sit once 
more in front of the blazing wood fire ; I look 
across at mother as she sits placidly knitting. 
Gretchen comes in to lay the cloth. All is the 
same as it was six years ago, the same peace- 
ful home, but dear father’s place is vacant, his 
chair stands empty, like a shadow of things past. 

It seems as though a year had passed since 
I wrote those few words at “ Gottestreu,” 
when night lay so silent about us, and mother 
was sleeping restfully in the narrow, white 
bed under the slanting roof. What terrible 
scenes I have passed through since that night ! 
I shudder to think of them. And yet God 
gave me strength to do my duty. It is 
only now, after all is over, and the dark page 
in the history of Hamburg has been turned 
down, that I feel weak and ill. If it had not 
been for those months of rest at Neuenhain I 
am sure that I could not have endured the 
strain. Think of the deaconesses who had not 


205 


A Call for Help. 

had that opportunity ! How bravely they 
bore their burdens! How cheerfully they 
looked death in the face ! 

I will go back in my story. The next morn- 
ing after the news came of the cholera in Ham- 
burg, as mother and I were finishing our pack- 
ing, Schwester Amalie came into the room 
with a telegram for me. I opened it and read 
aloud : “ Wait at station in Frankfort. Will 
meet you there. Ida.” 

I looked at mother, and she looked at me. 
“ Be prepared, my child,” she said, coming 
close to me. “Thou must go to Hamburg.” 

“What wilt thou do, mother? ” 

“ I would go with thee, if I were not too old. 
As it is I should only be a burden. I will re- 
turn home and pray daily and hourly for the 
poor sick ones and for thee.” 

“Thou art an angel, mother!” I exclaimed, 
my eyes filling with tears. 

“ No, darling, only a loving mother and a 
feeble follower of my Saviour.” The other 
deaconesses, having heard of my telegram, 
came into the room. They, too, put the same 
construction on it : I must go to Hamburg. 
To my surprise, for she was usually the first to 
come, I saw nothing of Schwester Paula until 
it was time for the train. 


206 


Schwester Anna. 


Schwester Lena, with her eyes overflowing 
with tears, insisted upon our drinking coffee 
about two o’clock (our train left at three), and 
gave us some of her delicious jelly to eat with 
our “ brodchen.” Schwester Amalie came and 
sat down by us and urged us to eat, but we were 
both quite nervous and could only take a little 
refreshment, much to the disappointment of 
the good sisters. 

“ Ach ! take a little more,” said Schwester 
Lena, “just a trifle more jam, Frau Lufft.” 

“ Thank you very much, sister. I cannot eat.” 

“Well, I don’t wonder,” rejoined the head 
sister, “ to think of that bonny girl in that 
awful city ! Ach ! into what dangers do our 
duties lead us ! ” 

“We must trust in God,” said my mother. 

“Yes, you dear, good woman, we must trust 
in God.” 

Then we kissed the dear sisters lovingly, and 
I inquired for Schwester Paula. 

“ Ach ! dost thou not know ? ” answered 
Schwester Lena. “ The good girl has begged 
to accompany thee. She says she is good for 
nothing anyway, and if she dies it will not be 
much loss — that is the way she talks — and if 
thou art ill she will take care of thee.” We all 
wept together. The good, self-sacrificing girl ! 


A Call for Help 


207 


How glad I should be to have her with me ! 
“ I have taken the liberty of allowing her to 
go,” continued the deaconess. “I trust that 
the inspector will not be displeased.” 

I am sure he will not, when he knows all 
the circumstances,” I replied. 

Just then Sch wester Paula came out, kissed 
all the deaconesses good-bye, and we went 
down the narrow path, up the little steep hill 
to the level road, where the stately poplars 
waved their heads in the breeze. 

Mother was to take the post wagon, as she 
could not walk so far, and so our bags were to 
go with her. The big yellow diligence soon 
came rumbling along ; we helped mother in, 
and, with a flourish, the driver snapped his 
whip, blew a blast on his horn, and rattled off 
down the hill. We followed more leisurely 
down the gradual descent, passing apple or- 
chards where the fruit was maturing, and vine- 
yards where the men and women were gathering 
the purple grapes in huge, flat baskets and carry- 
ing them away, carefully strapped to their backs. 
We went through Soden, which was then 
crowded with tourists who were drinking the 
mineral waters. In the shady garden of the 
“ Kurhaus ” the people were sitting listening 
to the music. 


208 


Schwester Anna. 


I seemed to be in a dream. Was there really 
cholera in Hamburg? Was I going into the 
midst of death, down into the valley of its 
shadow, as it were ? 

Mother, Paula, and I found seats in the train 
and we moved off toward Frankfort. The fields 
looked green and smiling; the villages lay peace- 
fully in the August sunshine. 

At Frankfort we found Schwester Lena wait- 
ing. She looked very grave and sad. As we 
sat down in the waiting room she told us of 
the call from Hamburg for help. 

“ Schwester Sophie writes,” she said, ‘ We 
need help. This morning Schwester Lucilla 
was taken ill ; to-night she lies dead, and be- 
fore midnight will be buried. It is sad to have 
such haste, but it must be so in order to save 
the others. Another sister has just been taken 
sick. What will be the outcome of it all God 
only knows ! We shall do our best ; but that 
is little in the face of all the misery which we 
see about us. If one or two of our deaconesses 
could come we should be very glad.’ The in- 
spector thinks that he can send but one, as it 
will not do to cripple our other stations for fear 
that the epidemic should spread.” 

“ That is very wise,” responded mother. 

‘‘ As thou hast had a long rest, dear Schwester 


A Call for Help. 


209 


Anna,” Schwester Ida continued, “ it seemed 
best to us that thou shouldst go. But thou art 
not compelled to do so. Think well before de- 
ciding.” 

I have decided already, Schwester Ida. I 
shall go willingly.” 

“ And the mother ? What will she do ? ” 

“ Go home and pray.” The deaconess pressed 
my mother’s hand in silence. 

Schwester Paula had stood quietly waiting 
during this conversation. Schwester Ida had 
known her before, and turning now to her asked. 
Where art thou going, sister? 

“ I am going to Hamburg with Schwester 
Anna, if the inspector will allow. I want to 
go very much.” 

“ Thou knowest that he lives here. Thou 
hadst better take a carriage at once ; there is 
an hour before the train goes, and thou canst 
go to his house and ask him. It may be that 
he will allow thee to go, although he has said 
that he wouTd send only one.” 

Paula hurried away. 

“ Now, Schwester Anna, with haste thou 
canst go up to the Home, if there is anything 
there that thou wishest to take.” 

“ No,” I replied. “ I have all that I want 

with me.” 

14 


210 


Schwester Anna. 


So we three walked up and down the long 
station, talking together and watching the 
hurrying crowds as they rushed for their trains. 
Some were going north, some south, but none 
were bound for that stricken city where the 
cholera was raging. At last we saw Paula com- 
ing down the long hallway accompanied by the 
inspector. 

“ So you will be a brave woman, Schwester 
Anna,” he said, as he grasped my hand warmly. 
“You are going into the jaws of death; but 
fear not. ‘ A thousand shall fall at thy side, and 
ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it shall not 
come nigh thee. Because thou hast made the 
Lord, even the Most High, thy habitation ; 
there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall 
any plague come nigh thy dwelling.’ Precious 
promise ! ” 

“Am I to go alone, Herr Inspector?” 

“ No, I have yielded to the persuasions of 
this good Sister Paula, and she may go with 
you. May God bless you both ! ” 

As the official dropped the long iron chain 
which closed the passage to our train we 
passed through and found pleasant seats in a 
compartment. With many a whistle, and after 
much ringing of bells, our train moved slowly 
out of the handsome station. Should I ever 


A Call for Help. 


211 


come back again ? Ah, well ! It mattered lit- 
tle, except for my darling mother. 

I shall never forget that ride. Mother and I 
sat hand in hand until we reached the junction 
where her train for Berlin left our train for 
Hamburg. We kissed each other tenderly, and 
said “ Farewell.” Neither of us wept. Fortu- 
nately our train waited a little at the junction, 
and the one for Berlin passed out ahead of us, 
so I was able to make mother comfortable and 
to catch her last loving look as she passed from 
my sight. Then my vision became blurred, 
and I was thankful to feel Schwester Paula’s 
strong arm about me, and she led me back to 
our train. 

O, that long, weary night ! How it 
haunts me ! It was really more than the hard 
duties which followed it, just as anticipated 
burdens are always so much heavier than 
actual ones. Paula leaned her head back 
against the cushions and slept restfully, but I 
could not. All night long I thought and 
thought. I looked from the open window at 
the passing landscape, beautified and softened 
by the mild light of the full moon, and lived 
over my past life, and tried to live through the 
coming weeks. Thank God ! the latter was 
impossible for me to do. Only one short step 


212 


Schwester Anna. 


ahead can we see through our Father’s great 
mercy. Our sorrows would be doubly heavy, 
our joys would lose half their joyousness, did 
we know about them beforehand. 

The breaking of day brought us to Ham- 
burg, where a sister deaconess met us. We 
saw hurrying crowds here, too, rushing in haste 
to the trains which would carry them from the 
plague-stricken city. Few, very few, alighted 
from our train. We were driven at once to 
the Home, where Schwester Sophie met us. I 
always loved this Hamburg head sister. She 
was so gentle, so kind, and yet, withal, so firm 
and strong in her duty. She kissed us kindly 
and we passed into the parlor. She told us 
the details of poor Lucilla’s sudden death and 
hasty burial. It was all very sad. To our re- 
lief she said that the other deaconess seemed 
to be better, and they thought she would re- 
cover. “It is a hopeful sign,” she added, 
“ that she has lived so long. This is the worst 
type of Asiatic cholera, and in a very few hours 
a case is decided. 

“May I go right to work?” I asked, laying 
off my outer wraps. 

“ No, my dear, thou mayest not. Dost thou 
think that we want thee sick, who wast sent 
to help us? Thou and this other dear sis- 


A Call for Help. 


213 


ter (whom may God bless for coming to our 
aid !) must take several hours’ rest after thy 
night ride and the excitement of leaving 
home.” 

We protested, but it was no use. She de- 
clared that there were enough nurses for that 
day. “ But thou wilt probably be needed to- 
night,” she continued, so take a good rest 
and be ready for work then. How is thy dear 
mother?” she asked, as we entered the cool, 
inviting room. 

“ She is well,” I replied, my throat filling 
with sobs as I thought of the mother’s last 
tender look. Then, without warning, I broke 
into wild weeping. 

Schwester Sophie took me in her arms. 

Weep on, my child. It will do thee good. 
Thou art completely worn out by the journey. 
Fear not. Thou wilt see the dear mother 
again, but not unless thou wilt rest.” 

She and Schwester Paula undressed me, and 
then my dear companion lifted me in her 
strong arms and laid me on the soft bed. By 
that time I had somewhat recovered command 
of myself. 

“ This is a fine helper they have sent thee, 
Schwester Sophie,” I said. “ I am provoked 
at myself.” 


214 


Schwester Anna. 


Do not feel so,” she said, tenderly, “ thou 
wilt be all right soon.” 

I was very tired. Almost before I knew that 
she had moved from my side I fell into a deep 
slumber. When I awoke the afternoon sun 
was shining against the gray curtain of our 
window, and, looking at my watch, I saw it 
was already five o’clock. 

Schwester Paula was up and dressed and 
smiled at me as I opened my eyes. 

“ Art thou better? ” she inquired, kindly. 

“ O, yes ! I feel perfectly well.” 

“ Then thou hadst better dress, and we will 
have some supper. We shall soon be needed.” 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 215 


CHAPTER XXL 

The Valley of the Shadow of Death* 

F or eight long weeks we fought the cholera. 

Although the number of cases had been 
large during the first few days it steadily in- 
creased, until the sick and dying persons were 
brought in more rapidly than we could accom- 
modate them. In a few days persons were 
forbidden to leave the city. Parcels could not 
be sent away for fear of carrying contagion. 
Except by letters, which were afterward fumi- 
gated, and telegrams, which too often bore 
messages of sorrow to loved ones far away, 
Hamburgers held no communication with the 
outside world. The city was shunned by every- 
one ; it was completely isolated. 

Beautiful Hamburg, called by some the love- 
liest city in our empire, why was it that thou 
wast visited by such an affliction ! 

The disease was, as is usually the case, con- 
fined to the poorer classes. From the river 
small canals penetrate the old city, or ‘‘Alt- 
stadt,” and are very useful in carrying mer- 
chandise out to the harbors. These canals are 
subject to the ebb and flow of the tide. A tel- 


216 


Schwester Anna. 


egram from Cuxhafen, the seaport of Hamburg, 
is sent when the tide changes, and three shots 
are fired to notify the people. This portion of 
the city is called “ the fleets,” and is exceed- 
ingly picturesque. Every spring and fall, when 
the unusual tides come, the water rises very 
high in these canals, frequently flooding the 
cellars of the poor people who live near them. 
When the gun fires a second three shots as a 
warning that the water is rising rapidly, the 
dwellers on these low streets gather up their 
few belongings and flee to a safer place. Just 
as soon as the flood abates they return to their 
only home, a dripping room, whose very walls 
ooze out dampness. 

It was in this region that the cholera was at 
its worst. One after another in a family would 
be smitten and carried away by police orders, 
leaving their relatives dumb with grief. After 
the removal of the sick ones the sanitary com- 
mission would come, fumigate every article that 
it was possible to purify in that way, and the 
clothing and even beds and bedcovers would be 
burnt. This meant almost ruin to some families. 

Some of the cases were very distressing. Be- 
fore our work became entirely confined to hos- 
pital wards I was occasionally sent to go 
through these “fleets” and seek out the miser- 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 217 


able people who were in need. I did not have 
to go far. Turning from a broad, handsome 
avenue, where fine, airy houses and good, nour- 
ishing food were helping to protect the inhabit- 
ants, I entered the narrow streets. So narrow 
were some of them that a horse and cart could 
scarcely pass between them without grazing 
them. No ray of sunlight could pierce the 
twilight. The air was tainted with odors of 
stale food, tobacco smoke, and poor wine. 
From the upper windows of the houses clothes- 
lines were stretched, on which old and dingy 
garments were drying ; possibly some of them 
belonged to that man who was just carried past 
me to be taken to the hospital. It was in this 
way, partly through ignorance, partly through 
dire poverty, that the germs were spread. Up 
in some of the windows a few flowers were try- 
ing to bloom, stretching up their little heads 
toward the streak of sky far, far above them. 
At the end of these narrow alleyways was us- 
ually a canal, flowing through a broader street, 
and its water was saturated with the germs 
which infested the river Elbe. 

In one home, or rather in one room, I found 
four children sitting huddled up together. 
Their room was literally empty. Those articles 
which had not been seized for debt had been 


218 


Schwester Anna. 


burned by the health officers. The children 
looked at me wonderingly as I gave them food, 
and said, “Are you an angel, lady? ” 

“ No, dear, but God sent me to you to help 
you.” 

When I had arranged what I could in the 
room they gathered around me and I asked 
the oldest one, a girl about twelve years of age, 
“ Where are thy parents? ” 

“ I do not know,” she answered. “ First, 
mamma was taken awfully sick. Some men 
came and carried her away, though we begged 
them not to. Then a few hours after that papa 
was taken just the same way, and they carried 
him off. Then we stayed alone all night.’’ 

“ Did no one come to help thee?” 

“No, I think they were all sick too. They 
were crying all the night in the other rooms. 
Yesterday morning the men came and took our 
things away. They were kind and said they 
were sorry. One man gave me a big chunk of 
bread. We ate that all up yesterday. We 
never saw anybody else till you came this 
morning.” 

“ Why didst thou not call some one of the 
neighbors ? ” 

“We were afraid to, for there were such 
dreadful noises. Hark! you can hear them now!” 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 219 

A woman was shrieking piteously, and call- 
ing, “ Help ! help ! They are faking away my 
husband ! ” These poor people could not com- 
prehend why it was necessary to remove the 
sick ones. 

“ Canst thou stay here until to-morrow,'’ I 
asked, “if I leave thee something to eat? I 
will come again and try to find help for thee.” 

“ We shall stay right here,” replied the brave 
little woman, “until you come again.” Alas! 
before the next morning the poor child was 
carried away too, but the other three escaped 
and kind friends were found for them. 

O, the misery of it all ! It made us heart- 
sick. As I said, it was only in the first few 
days that we were able to do this outside work. 
The cases accumulated so rapidly that hospitals 
were improvised in every possible place. All 
the regular hospitals were overcrowded. Large 
barracks were devoted by the government to 
the use of the cholera patients, and we mem- 
bers of the Bethanien Verein were appointed to 
wards in that place. I write it down as a com- 
pliment to my sister deaconesses, that to our 
society the very worst cases were given. For, 
as one of the doctors said, “You are the best 
nurses we have. You are quiet and very faith- 
ful.” How glad we were to be in the thick of 


220 


Sch wester Anna. 


the fight and to feel that we were giving our- 
selves wholly to our work. 

Schwester Paula and I had wards near to- 
gether. Each of us had thirty-five dangerously 
ill patients under our care. And in spite of 
our unceasing efforts night and day half of those 
poor sick persons died during every twenty- 
four hours, and their places were filled almost 
instantly with fresh cases. 

Notwithstanding the utmost precautions 
taken by the police and health officers, people 
were constantly exposed to the disease. When 
a person was taken ill he was very frequently 
placed by some one in an ordinary cab from 
one of the cab stands. He was taken to the bar- 
racks and left. Then the driver would drive 
away again, after having been sprinkled with a 
few drops of carbolic acid, or some other disin- 
fectant, and take his accustomed place at the 
stand. His next passenger would perhaps be a 
healthy person, who leaned back comfortably 
on the cushions, wholly unaware that a cholera 
victim had occupied the seat fifteen minutes 
before. 

We were busy indeed in the barracks. Every 
moment was full. The first evening after I 
took my place there I saw the doctor coming. 

“ Good evening, sister,” he said. 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 221 


I thought the voice sounded familiar, and as 
I glanced up from my patient I iooked into the 
calm, steady eyes of Gottfried’s old friend, 
Georg Schmidt. 

“ Why, Anna Lufft ! Is it you ? What are 
you doing here in the midst of all this terrible 
suffering?” 

“ I might ask you in return, doctor, what are 
you doing here? ” I said, as we shook hands. 

“ When I heard of the plague I knew doctors 
would be needed, and I hastened to come.” 

‘‘ And the same thing has brought me here, 
provided the word ‘ nurses ’ be substituted for 
* doctors,’ ” I replied, smiling a little. 

Even in the midst of this distress and trouble 
we were able to smile, especially when such an 
old friend came. I was rich indeed with Paula 
and Georg for my companions. We had only 
a moment for conversation, for our time was 
precious. Georg had charge of our wards at 
night, and occasionally, in a bit of leisure, if 
such it could be called when one must run every 
minute or two to relieve the wants of some suf- 
fering fellow-creature, we talked. He seemed 
very sad. He told me that they had heard 
nothing from Margaretta for three years. 

That was a wretched scamp she married,” 
he said, bitterly. “She threw herself away. 


222 


Schwester Anna. 


Your life is so much holier and happier. But, 
Anna, we children never had your home train- 
ing. I do not wish to reflect on my parents ; 
but I must say that if my poor sister had been 
brought up to fear God, instead of living for 
show, she would never have come to this.’' 

At another time he told me something sur- 
prising. His father had lost all his money, and 
he and Frau Schmidt were living alone in a 
small house. I send them all I can, but it is 
not much ; my practice is still small. They 
blame me for coming here. I have a very bitter 
letter from my mother in my pocket now. I 
am glad I came, though. It was right.” 

My respect for Dr. Georg increased daily. 
No touch was more gentle than his, no words 
were more consoling to the sick than those he 
uttered. He seemed to be an excellent physi- 
cian too, and the patients often rallied under 
his vigorous treatment. I never ventured to 
ask him if he had heard from Gottfried Herr- 
mann. He never mentioned him, and I dared 
not ask, though sometimes the words were 
trembling on my lips. 

One night after the plague had run nearly 
five weeks, and I was almost worn out by loss 
of sleep and anxiety, I was sitting for a moment 
writing a note to my dear, patient mother, who 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 223 


watched and prayed in Wittenberg. I never 
failed to write her something^ every day. I 
could, at least, save her any superfluous anxiety. 
Sometimes I had only time to scribble one 
word : “ Well,” and put it hastily into an en- 
velope. Sometimes I could write a little note. 
Every day she wrote to me dear, loving, cheery 
letters. They did me a world of good. This 
night of which I speak, just as I was inditing 
“ Dear Mother,” I felt a hand lightly laid on 
my shoulder. Looking up, I saw Schwester 
Paula’s quiet face. 

“ Dear sister,” she said, I am so sorry to in- 
terrupt thee when thou art writing to thy dear 
mother. I will wait a minute for thee, but be 
quick.” 

I hastily wrote, Well,” inclosed the letter 
in its envelope, directed, stamped it, and stood 
up. “ I am ready. What is it ? ” 

“ Thou art always the same brave soldier, 
ready for duty, Schwester Anna,” she replied, 
lovingly putting her arm around me. She was 
so strong, and I was so tired, so tired. 

What is it ? ” I asked again. 

“ O ! I almost forgot my errand in looking at 
thy dear, worn face. I have a new patient in 
my ward. He was a very, very sick man when 
they brought him in this afternoon, but we 


224 


Schwester Anna. 


have been working over him, and I really be- 
lieve he is a little better. He is delirious and 
in his wanderings keeps talking of Wittenberg 
and occasionally calls, ^ Anna ! Anna ! ’ in heart- 
breaking tones.” 

My heart almost stopped. Who could it be ? 

“ I thought that as thou earnest from Wit- 
tenberg,” continued Paula, “perhaps thou didst 
know him and canst quiet him. Schwester 
Rosalie is there now.” 

“Has Dr. Schmidt seen him?” I asked, 
scarcely recognizing the tones of my own voice. 

“No. He has not yet come in. What ails 
thee, child ? Art thou ill ? Ach ! this work is 
too heavy for thee ! ” 

“ Water ! ” I cried. She brought me some 
boiled water which stood near, looking anx- 
iously at me as I drank. 

“ Thou art ill. Thou must go home at once. 
I will take thy ward, and Schwester Rosalie can 
keep mine. No ! thou shalt not go in there by 
that sick man,” she said, getting in front of me 
as I started to go. 

“ I am really quite well, Schwester Paula. 
Indeed I am. I want to go. I will not go 
home.” 

“ Well, let me look at thee. Thou hast a 
bit of color in thy cheeks now. Thou mayest 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 225 


go and look at him and then thou must go 
home.” 

I went into the other ward alone. I walked 
between the long, narrow beds on which the 
invalids were moaning with pain. Some figures 
lay still and at rest. Their long conflict was 
over. At last I came to the bed at the extreme 
end of the long row. On it lay a man who was 
tossing restlessly. The deaconess sat by him. 
As I came she rose. Since thou hast come, 
Schwester Anna, I will go. I am needed down 
there. Poor Number 9 is gone, and they are 
bringing in a fresh case.” She hurried away to 
meet the men. 

I stood looking down at the unconscious man. 
Yes, it was he, my Gottfried. His curls were 
cut very short, his beard was longer and un- 
kempt, but it was he. I lifted my heart in a 
silent prayer : I thank thee, O my God ! 

The sick man turned again. He stretched 
out his hands. Ach ! Anna, my sweetheart, 
where art thou ? I have wandered so long, my 
darling. I have never found thee. Where art 
thou ? Where art thou ? ” Then he would lie 
quiet a moment, and then break out again. 
Sometimes he talked of the old willow, some- 
times of our fireside. He spoke of his mother, 

but always returned to the old theme ; ** Where 
15 


226 


Schwester Anna. 


art thou, my Anna ? ” It seemed as if his mind 
were living over the past years, with the idea 
that I had wandered away somewhere. 

“ I am here, Gottfried,” I said, laying my 
hand on his hot head. He looked up at me, 
but there was no recognition in his eyes. Then 
he took up the same pitiful plaint. As I 
soothed and quieted him he became less rest- 
less, and finally fell asleep. 

A shadow fell across the bed, and I saw 
Georg Schmidt leaning over the bed. Suddenly 
he started, and held the light which he carried 
close to the sick man’s face. 

“ It is really Gottfried ! ” he murmured. 
“ Schwester Rosalie, you had better — Ach ! it is 
not Schwester Rosalie ! Do you know him, 
Anna? ” he asked, looking at me kindly. 

^‘Yes, Georg.” 

How strange that he has come back to us 
at such a time as this ! He is improving. You 
need have no fears for him. To-morrow he will 
be much better. Did he know you ? ” 

“No; he has wandered a good deal in his 
mind.” 

“ To-morrow he will know you. Now I must 
send for Schwester Rosalie and give her in- 
structions. Schwester Paula will keep your 
ward.” 


The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 227 

“But, doctor, I am going back there m)/self.” 

“ No. You are not. I have seen Schwester 
Paula, and sbe and I agree that you must have 
a good rest. There is no use of protesting. 
You must go. I am the doctor, you know.” 

Dear, kind Georg! He put me in a carriage 
and, despite my objections, accompanied me 
home. Then he ordered that I should be given 
a quiet room, and should not be disturbed un- 
til I awoke naturally. I bade him “ good 
night,” and must have asked something by my 
glance, for, as he held my hand tightly, he 
whispered : “ Have no fears. I shall be there 
all night. I shall watch him myself. Good 
night, dear sister ” He passed his hand hur- 
riedly over his eyes as he went back to his self- 
appointed task. 

My mind was so exhausted that all I could 
do was to offer up a short prayer of thanksgiv- 
ing to God for his great mercy. I fell into a 
deep, dreamless sleep and slept the whole night 
through. It was five long weeks since I had 
been in bed. 


228 


Schwester Anna. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Dn Gcofgf* 

T he next morning I hastened to the bar- 
racks as soon as I could. In the entrance 
I met Georg, who had come to wait for me. 

He is much better,” he said, brightly. 
“ However, I think you had better not go 
where he can see you to-day, for he is still very 
weak, and the excitement might be harmful to 
him.” 

I will not,” I promised. The other nurses 
would do better for him than I, for they had no 
personal interest in the matter, and were more 
composed. “ But you are dreadfully tired. Dr. 
Georg,” I exclaimed. “You must go home 
and rest too.” 

“ I cannot, Anna. You know I must first 
make the round of the other hospital. Then I 
really will go to bed, for I feel unusually tired.” 

I felt very anxious about him as he hurried 
off, his face was so lined and careworn. He had 
been constantly busy for the last five weeks. In 
fact, he boasted that he did not need any sleep 
at all. I went to my work, but every now and 
then I found time to go to the door of the 
other ward and glance in at the long line of 


Dr. Georg. 


229 


beds, at the very end of which my Gottfried 
lay. He was very quiet, Schwester Paula said, 
and seemed to be sleeping. 

Toward night Dr. Georg came in again. 
He looked much worse than in the morning. 

“ You have not been in bed at all ! ” I cried. 

“ Indeed, I could not sleep, Anna, I found 
so much to do. The hospitals are crowded. I 
went home once, but was called almost imme- 
diately to go to a poor woman who was stricken 
down suddenly. It was a dreadful case. She 
died in two hours. There are several little 
children. It is sad, sad.” 

He sat down and covered his face with his 
hands. I went and brought him a stimulant, 
for he seemed ready to faint. 

“ Thank you,” he said, taking a few swal- 
lows. “ No, no more. I am ready now'. I 
must go my rounds again.” 

So the days went by. Gottfried steadily im- 
proved, but Georg still thought it best for me 
not to see him. Our dear doctor, on the other 
hand, grew more weary every day. It was im- 
possible to persuade him to rest. One night 
he did not come to the hospital. I felt very 
anxious about him and sent one of the mes- 
sengers to the house where he had a room, 
but he was not there. 


230 


Schwester Anna. 


“ Probably out with some sick person,” grum- 
bled the landlady. “ One would think he 
never slept and had no home at all, from the 
way he goes on. But he’s one of God’s blessed 
saints,” she added. 

About ten o’clock that night there was con- 
fusion in the hall below. Then steps came up 
the stairs and the bearers entered my ward, 
where there was an empty bed. They laid 
the man down. The men were weeping. “ It 
is our dear doctor,” they sobbed. 

He lay there until five o’clock the next 
morning, suffering greatly. His body was so 
weak that the cholera took firm grip. Just as 
the sun came in at the window he became 
quiet and the spasms ceased. He reached up 
his poor, weak hand to touch mine. “Anna! ” 
he said ; “ my love 1 ” and he was gone. 

I kissed his cold forehead. It was something 
to have won the love of such a man, though I 
never knew it. 

We laid dear, brave Georg in a spot by him- 
self, away from the common patients. On the 
pure white marble cross which marks his resting 
place are engraved these words : “ He died for 
his brethren. ‘ Greater love hath no man than 
this, that a man lay down his life for his 
friends.’ ” 


The Decision. 


231 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Decision* 

W HEN Gottfried was able to be moved 
he was taken to a comfortable room at 
the home of a widow who had no fear of the 
disease. Though I had never said a word to 
Schwester Paula concerning our relation to each 
other she seemed to understand the whole 
subject. What we should have done without 
this dear sister in that awful epidemic I do not 
know. Her strength seemed almost miracu- 
lous. Her spirits were always cheerful. She 
nursed her patients with the utmost care, and 
her touch grew more gentle every day. 
Strange to say, after Schwester Lucilla’s death 
on the first day of the epidemic none of the 
deaconesses was touched by the disease. We 
felt sick and tired, but no real sickness came to 
us. When the disease was abating, and we 
began to hope that a change had come, the 
weather was quite cold. Our labors grew 
lighter as the number of patients decreased, 
and we were able to get more rest. 

I began to wonder when I should be 
allowed to see Gottfried. It seemed a little 
hard that strange hands should minister to his 


232 


Schwester Anna. 


wants, even though those hands belonged to 
as dear a friend as Schwester Paula. 

One morning Schwester Sophie came to me 
and said : “ My dear, there is a sick man under 
Schwester Paula’s care, Herr Herrmann, who 
comes from thy native place. He wishes to 
see thee. Wilt thou go with me this 
morning? ” 

“ If I am not needed here, Schwester 
Sophie.” 

No ; thy place can be supplied. Get ready, 
and we will go at once.” 

She talked kindly to me as we went along, 
and went with me up the stairs of Frau 
Lange’s house and into the sick room. I saw 
a man sitting in the big armchair. He was 
fully dressed and looked much better than 
when I had seen him last ; but O ! how thin 
and pale — a mere shadow of the old, strong 
Gottfried. 

Schwester Sophie shook hands with him, 
and then I went to him. As I took his hand 
he looked full in my eyes. “ My Anna ! ” he 
said. 

I sank down on my knees beside him. I 
had forgotten Schwester Sophie, I had for- 
gotten Frau Lange ; everything was as noth- 
ing when I looked into his frank, blue eyes. 


The Decision. 


233 


When I did turn around I saw that they had 
all slipped away, but had left the, door open a 
little way. 

I could never tell how we talked that day, 
as I sat beside him, holding his hand in mine. 
He told me of his journey to America, of his 
application to a lawyer in New York, of his 
success in business. 

“ Of course it was uphill work at first, for I 
had to learn the language. Fortunately, I 
always liked English, and it was easy for me. 
It is a nice language, but a cold one, com- 
pared with our beautiful German, which comes 
direct from the heart. Then, too, these Amer- 
icans never use the soft ‘ thee ’ and ‘ thou ’ 
which add such a touch of tenderness to our 
speech. But I will say nothing against the 
language or the people. They were very kind 
to me. I can live well in America.’’ 

“ Thou wilt not return there, Gottfried ! ” I 
cried, alarmed. “ It is so far away across that 
wide, wide ocean.” 

“ I will never leave thee again, my darling, 
that is certain. When I go thou shalt go with 
me. 

“ I cannot, Gottfried. I am a deaconess. 
And there is my mother. She can never spare 


me. 


234 


Schwester Anna. 


“ There are no vows preventing a deaconess 
from marrying, are there ? ” he said, smiling. 
“ I have been questioning Schwester Paula 
about it, and she says that several of the sisters 
have married after entering the Bethanien Ver- 
ein. In fact, it rather adds to their attractive- 
ness ; the cap is very becoming,” he added, 
turning my face to the light. 

Gottfried ! ” 

“Never mind, sweetheart, I am only joking. 
I must tell thee, something, Anna. When I 
went to America I at once sought out a Meth- 
odist church ; it kept me in sympathy with 
thee to worship there every Sunday. I soon 
grew interested in the people and their earnest- 
ness. And I, too, have given my heart to 
God.” I pressed his hand, but could not speak. 
Blessings were being showered upon me in 
great abundance. “ And thou and I will work 
together for his glory. Thy mother will go 
with us to this new land willingly, I am sure.” 

“ But my work, Gottfried. It would not be 
right to leave it. And thy mother’s wishes 
were always against thy marriage. No ; it will 
not do, Gottfried. We will work for God, but 
not together ; thou in thy sphere, and I in 
mine.” 

“We shall work, together, my Anna. I do 


The Decision. 


235 


not believe that God requires such sacrifice 
from thee. He has brought us here. We be- 
long to each other. Thy place will be filled by 
some good woman who needs just the bless- 
ing and consolation which this work can give 
her. I never told thee what brought me home. 
I had a letter from my mother a few weeks ago, 
in which she told me that she would take back 
what she had said against our marriage. ^ I was 
wrong,’ she said, ‘ and when God took away 
my Karl, my baby, I saw that I had been 
self-willed. Come home, my boy, and marry 
thine Anna. I will gladly welcome her for thy 
sake.’ ” 

“ Schwester Anna,” said Schwester Sophie’s 
voice behind me, we must go home. The 
patient will be tired out.” 

“ Thank you, the patient feels much revived,” 
said Gottfried. “ If I may have a dose of 
this medicine every day, in good, strong allo- 
pathic portions, I shall soon be out of doors.” 

“ I will bring her again to-morrow, Herr 
Herrmann, but only for a short time, I warn 
you.” 

I shall be thankful to you. Auf wiederse- 
hen, Schwester Sophie ! Auf wiedersehen, my 
Anna, until to-morrow,” he added in a low 
tone. 


236 


Sch wester Anna. 


I wrote a long letter to my mother that day, 
telling her of Gottfried’s return, and of his 
wishes. I also had a good talk with Schwester 
Sophie on the same subject. She agreed with 
Gottfried. “ Thou hast now other ties,” she 
said, and thou canst do thy work as a married 
woman as well as in the Bethanien Verein. We 
shall be sorry to have thee leave us, but ‘ what 
God hath joined together, let not man put asun- 
der.’” 

My mother’s answer brought the same advice. 
I had several talks with Gottfried, while kind 
Schwester Sophie waited in the other room, 
and he seemed fixed in his determination that I 
should be his wife. One day I spent several 
hours in prayer. I tried not to let my own 
wishes affect my prayer ; for it would have been 
almost more than human if I had not felt great 
anguish at the thought of having Gottfried 
leave me again. However, I did want to ac- 
complish the work for which I was sent into 
the world, and if that work required that I give 
up my dream of home and loved ones I was 
willing to sacrifice them, if it was God’s will. 

I arose from my knees, confident that God’s 
blessings would still rest upon me if I left the 
active work of the Bethanien Verein and en- 
tered upon the quiet work of home. 


The Decision. 


237 


When I told Gottfried the next morning he 
was very joyful. He was then able to walk 
about the room and was gaining strength rap- 
idly. “ Thanks to my two good nurses ! ” he 
would say, taking Schwester Paula’s hand and 
mine. Dear Schwester Paula ! How unself- 
ishly happy she was in my joy during those 
days ! ” 

“ Let us pray together, Anna,”said Gottfried, 
and we knelt down while he asked that God’s 
benediction might rest upon us. I had no idea 
that my gay, almost worldly, boyish companion 
could converse so well with God. 

As we rose to our feet he kissed me softly on 
the forehead. “ This is our betrothal, Anna. 
Where is thy little turquoise ring? I have 
missed it from thy finger.” 

“ I have it always here,” I replied, pulling 
from my throat the blue ribbon on which it was 
hung about my neck. “ It is not best for us 
deaconesses to wear ornaments. I could not 
part with my little ring, so I put it on in this 
way.” 

“ Canst thou not wear it until I get thee a 
better one? ” 

Wait until the answer comes from the in- 
spector, Gottfried. Then I will put it on. I 
want no better one.” 


238 


Schwester Anna. 


The answer from the inspector gave me per- 
mission to withdraw from the society at once, 
in consideration of the circumstances and of 
my “ faithful service during the terrible visita- 
tion of cholera.” So, when Gottfried was well 
enough, we said “ Farewell ” to the dear sisters 
with whom I had been so happy, and went 
home to Wittenberg. The morning before I 
left the Home, as we were sitting at the table 
after drinking coffee, the deaconesses began 
singing a hymn of parting One after the other 
the sweet voices joined in, until it seemed like 
a chorus of angels. They sang of our band, of 
our journey toward the home land, of our final 
reunion in the beautiful country where we 
shall go out no more forever.” 

Schwester Sophie prayed tenderly, and then 
they all came and kissed me good-bye, each 
one giving me her blessing. It was hard for 
me to leave them. With all the brightness of 
love and joy and home before me my heart 
went out in deep affection toward these blessed 
women, who were toiling for the good of oth- 
ers, if by their means some soul might be 
saved. I prayed, too, in my heart : “ O, my 
Father ! in the midst of joy let me not forget 
the high calling to which thou hast called me 
as a child of thine.” 


An Easter Day. 


239 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

An Easter Day* 

Wittenberg, March 26. 

M y story is almost done now. To-morrow, 
with the new era in my life, I shall close 
this little book and begin a new record. The 
winter is behind us. I cannot give all the de- 
tails of our return home. It was such a beau- 
tiful homecoming. Frau Herrmann actually 
took me in her arms and kissed me when 
Gottfried took me to her. I never saw before 
such a change in a person. Surely, nothing 
but God’s grace could have transformed this 
proud, cold woman into the friendly, loving 
being that she is now. 

I was wrong, Anna,” she whispered. “ It 
is hard to say it, but it is true. Forgive me ! ” 
“ Gladly,” I answered, kissing her lovingly. 
“ If you will let me, I will be your true and 
faithful daughter.” Thus our peace was made. 

Christmas Day we all attended church and 
thanked God for his goodness and mercy in 
sending to us his well-beloved Son. The sec- 
ond Christmas holiday our families celebrated 
together. I cannot express our joy in the 


240 


Schwester Anna. 


thought that we were no longer at enmity ; 
that Gottfried and I might be happy, knowing 
that the blessing of our parents rested upon 
us. If only my dear father could have been 
with us ! 

This time it has been my turn to open the 
oaken chest where my wedding outfit has lain 
for many years ; to sew the fine linen gar- 
ments ; to prepare my housekeeping articles. 
The time has flown, with Gottfried to come 
and sit near us as we worked, or read to us 
from some interesting book. 

One thing has been decided, Gottfried will 
not return to America. An opening right 
here in dear old Wittenberg has been found 
for him. And my mother said, “ Thou canst 
take father’s place in our home, my son.” To 
my great joy we are to live on in the same 
peaceful home, Gottfried, and mother, and I. 
We can cultivate the same plants which my 
father loved ; we can sit by the blazing wood 
fire in the broad hallway ; we can work in the 
old vine-covered summer house, where we 
passed so many pleasant hours. America is 
very nice, and we should, perhaps, be richer 
there ; but it is not the German fatherland ; it 
is not home. 

Gottfried comes and lays his hand on my 


An Easter Day. 


241 


shoulder. My sweetheart,” he says, ** stop 
thy writing and let us talk a little.” 

“ In a moment, Gottfried,” I reply. I have 
only a few more words to write.” 

“ Did I ever tell thee, Anna, that I saw Mar- 
garetta once in America ? ” he continues. 

“ No,” I answer, surprised. “ Where was 
it?” 

“ I was passing through the station at Jer- 
sey City one night, where so many trains leave 
for the West, when my attention was attracted 
to a group of emigrants, evidently waiting for 
a train. The man was leaning over on the 
arm of the seat fast asleep ; the woman held in 
her arms a sleeping child, while another was 
lying up against her, crying. As I passed the 
woman looked up at me, and I saw who it was. 
It was Margaretta, thin and pale. She did not 
recognize me, and I thought it best not to 
speak to her on account of her husband. I 
slipped a ten-dollar bill into the child’s lap as 
I went on with the crowd.” 

“How sad!” I murmur. Joy and sorrow, 
happiness and grief — how mingled together 
they are in our own lives ! 

To-morrow is our wedding day. My white 

gown lies ready up stairs ; the filmy veil is near 
16 


242 


Schwester Anna. 


it. On the myrtle tree, which mother has cul- 
tivated with such care, like a true housewife, in 
anticipation of this day, is the spray of blos- 
soms, which, mixed with orange flowers, I shall 
wear to-morrow. Outside the window the 
cherry trees are blooming, just as they did that 
spring day nine long years ago, when Gottfried 
and I walked across the fields to Brenheim, 
and he gave me the little turquoise ring which 
I still wear, “ as a remembrance.*’ The wil- 
lows down by the river are budding, the mead- 
ows are green, the birds in the linden trees 
are singing their spring songs ; earth is putting 
on her new life. 

So, to-morrow, on Easter Day, when the 
Christians all over the world are singing, ** The 
Lord is risen, indeed,” “ Let us rejoice and be 
glad,” Gottfried and I shall go out into a new 
life. We know not what is before us, whether 
it be joy or sorrow ; we are happy to be to- 
gether, and as one person we shall praise and 
glorify God to our lives’ end. 


The End. 








